


The beauty of survival

by moonflow



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More angst, Recovery, Slow Burn, Work In Progress, but theyre also integral to the plot so like, in which sol rewrites the second half of v3 to suit their own needs, korekiyo redemption babey, shrugs, so they will show up SOMETIMES but this is focused on canon, there are some ocs but they work behind the scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 65,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflow/pseuds/moonflow
Summary: Angie manages to resurrect Rantaro after all. What happens after that, up until the bitter end... is yet to be seen.
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Shinguji Korekiyo
Comments: 145
Kudos: 440





	1. Revival

A lot had happened over the course of the past 24 hours. 

Two friends, dead.

A culprit, executed.

A murderer, punishment eluded.

An old friend brought back to life.

He hadn’t slept.

His gaze was blurred, speckles dotting his vision as he stared down at his hands - hands that he had been certain would never see the light of day again. But they were real, just as the rest of him was real. He could feel the blood in his veins, the air in his lungs, the wetness to his eyes that he hadn’t been able to shake.

Keeping his cool in the face of stress had always been his specialty, but it was quickly becoming laborious and draining. The headache pounding at his brow certainly wasn’t helping matters.

Blinking hard, the man forced himself to lift his head, subtly wincing at the pain in his neck the movement procured as he looked to the ceiling.

His name was Rantaro Amani.

At the moment, he could not remember his ultimate talent.

He was supposed to be dead.

The man sucked in a breath between his teeth as a stream of wetness trickled down his cheek, eyes closing and hands wringing a bit more tightly in his lap.

And he knew who killed him.

* * *

“Praise be, you’re alive!”

That was the first thing he heard, followed by his own sharp, strangled gasp. His vision went from dark to blurred to strikingly clear in a matter of seconds, the sudden onslaught of sensations quickly becoming overwhelming. The smell of old wood and paint filled his nostrils, the ambient sounds of white noise deafening in his ears. His fingers were splayed over the floor beneath him, visibly trembling with the sense of touch returned to their tips.

“Hello? Come on, come on! I’ve just brought you back from the dead, you know!” a familiar and chipper voice spoke, causing him to wince at the sudden sound pounding in his ears. Shakily, he forced his head to move upwards only to find an equally familiar face beaming down at him.

“There we go! You’re just as good as new, you are!” Angie chirped, clasping her hands together with delight. “Atua’s power truly is one of a kind! Ah, right!”

Dumbfounded, Rantaro could only watch as she walked over to where a book lay on the floor, crouching in front of it with her back to him. Confused, he took the opportunity to observe his surroundings as best he could in his semi-dazed state. 

The two of them seemed to be in some sort of studio, the space littered with paint cans and sculpting tools. The ceiling was exposed, open beams tinged grey with dust, as if they hadn’t been disturbed in several years. Which… made no sense. With a quavering exhale, he glanced to his left-

“ _ AH! ” _

Adrenaline rushed instantly through his newly awakened veins, scrambling backwards on the floor with his hands and rear until he fell over on his back with a grunt of pain. Hesitantly, he forced his head to crane upwards and properly look at what had startled him. It… it was…

“Do you like it?” Angie suddenly spoke, making her guest visibly start at the sound. His head whipped over to the girl, who held a candle in one hand. It was only then that he noticed a slowly smoldering pile of papers and ash next to her on the floor, smoke leisurely drifting upwards towards the ceiling. Despite the apprehension on Rantaro’s face, the younger girl was all smiles, a sparkle to her eye.

After getting to her feet, she blew out the candle and traipsed over to the object in question that had startled Rantaro so much, placing a hand on it. “I made ones of the others as well! The spirit of Atua moved through me like a great wind, and the next thing you know, poof! Four whole statues! Come, stand up if you can! I want to make sure I got it absolutely perfect!”

Rantaro didn’t move, instead warily running his tongue over his lips as he stared up at the doppelgänger before him. It finally occurred to him that it must have been a statue, albeit an… eerily realistic one, right down to the folds in the clothing he had been wearing the day he…

Died.

Angie was still staring at him expectantly, and he realized that it would probably be best for him to stand on his own rather than have her drag him to his feet. With some effort, he rolled onto his knees and pushed himself up, the pressure against his palms simultaneously familiar and foreign all at once. It had been a long time since he had been able to move, let alone stand. Talking would be an entirely different obstacle.

At last, he managed to stand, bracing a hand against a nearby crafting table to help steady himself. Angie clasped her hands together happily and praised, “Good, good! It is like you were never dead to begin with! How exciting that the ritual worked! Oh! I should tell the rest of the council! Atua will be so pleased! Ah, wait!” She stalled, hand to her chin, and then her smile returned at full width. “Aha, He is! And you don’t even have to give a sacrifice as thanks. How generous!”

“Angie,” Rantaro croaked, his throat feeling like sandpaper from lack of use. A slightly trembling hand moved upward to his neck to hold it, as if it would somehow ease the feeling any, and he tried his best to continue, “What-“

“Ah, ah, ah!” the girl merrily interrupted, holding up a finger to further emphasize her point. “Save your energy! Now that you are living again, you no longer have infinite supply of it! At least, that is what Atua tells me of the afterlife. How exciting!”

Rantaro’s confusion was quickly turning into a dull irritation, not wanting to risk being interrupted again lest he open his mouth. This seemed to be the best course of action, for Angie was speaking again. “It is quite late, but I’m certain I can round up the council to come and celebrate your return! We have many things to speak about. Please, make yourself at home! And welcome back!”

Briefly, he considered asking another question, but Angie was practically skipping to the room’s door to exit it. She closed it snugly behind her, leaving Rantaro alone with only his thoughts and the copycat statue to keep him company.

It was giving him the creeps.

The pounding headache over his eyes was only growing worse by the moment, the hand braced against the table having curled into a fist. Closing his eyes, he tried not to start at the sudden darkness, and at last took in a deep breath. And then, he began to pace. His steps were wobbly and uneven, but he was walking. The floor was softly creaking beneath his weight, the dust in the air was leisurely floating onto his shoulders, and the hand at his neck lingered over the skin.

He was alive.

Somehow, someway, Angie had brought him back from the dead. But why? And how? That sort of thing was impossible, and yet here he stood, alive and well - for the most part, anyway. After being weightless for so long, feeling nothing,  _ being _ nothing… having to suddenly walk and talk and be human again was more laborious than he could have ever guessed. It almost made him prefer the nothingness.

Almost.

Rantaro continued to pace, having taken to running his fingers through his hair and humming in the back of his throat to try and reorient himself. Aside from his headache, he was fine, for the most part. Despite his confusion, he had to try his best to get himself together and figure out what was going on.

“Okay,” he said, the sound of his own voice foreign to his ears. “I’m not dead. I’m going to guess I’m still in the school. This is probably Angie’s ultimate lab, or at least an art room, and there was no art room when I was here.

“They must have expanded the school, or at least unblocked the stairwells,” he continued, turning once he had reached the leftmost wall and walking past his eerie effigy yet again, choosing to ignore it. “Not that I remember seeing any stairwells leading upward anyway… but if that much progress has been made on the building, I’ve been gone for a while - I must have been. So what is -“ 

He suddenly gasped and stopped, a hand flying to his back pocket for his monopad. Much to the man’s chagrin, his pockets were empty - both of them. He supposed it only made sense… but if that was the case, who had his pad now? Had they thrown it out?

“Damn it,” muttered Rantaro, nudging the hem of his shirt back down as he released a sigh. He was simultaneously wide awake and exhausted at the same time, and not having any answers wasn’t helping with his headache any. With one hand on his hip, the other raised as he pinched at his temples. This… was ridiculous. He’d say it was just a dream if he didn’t know any better. Dying hadn’t been a dream. Nothing so raw and real could have been a mere figment of his imagination.

His chest felt heavy. What he needed was fresh air, but Angie had told him to stay put, and surprising someone with his sudden appearance wouldn’t fair well for anyone involved.

Hand slipping down from his forehead, he glanced around the room once more, if for no other reason than to keep himself busy. Some unfinished projects rested on tables, used paint cans here and there. The air’s scent reminded him of his middle school art class, and the memory would have brought a smile to his lips had he not been so mentally preoccupied.

A white sheet rested over something large in the corner, Rantaro’s brow creasing as he stepped over to it. He was not normally a prying person, and he would continue to not be had he not looked down at the floor, just beneath where the sheet ran out of length. 

Pink shoes. Ones he recognized.

His heart sank to his stomach as he remembered Angie’s words. She made ones of the others, she’d said. Did… that mean…?

Almost against his will, a hand reached out towards the sheet. There were other feet, as well; if he had to guess, there were three wax figures there. Three people… three more victims of this god awful game. Who? Who had suffered because he could not -

A thud coming from outside should not have startled him so, and yet it did, causing him to yelp and stumble backwards away from covered effigies. A shudder ran down his spine at the sound, sweat beading on his brow at the memory that rushed through him. The sound was akin to when he himself had…

… Something had probably just fallen. That was all. Or was it? Was the feeling in his gut just nerves, or had something happened?

Forcing his feet to move forward, Rantaro moved across the studio and lingered at the double doors leading outside. A hand extended, pale and softly trembling. It found the doorknob, and it turned.

With the door open, many things happened at once. Footsteps rapidly receded to his left. Light from the laboratory illuminated the dark, olden floors of the hallway before him. Something red glistened in the newfound light, steadily expanding across the ground.

The smell hit him. Bile threatened to rise up his throat, tears that he’d unintentionally been holding back beading in his eyes. One trickled down his cheek as his gaze followed the trail to a figure lying face down on the ground.

Angie.

Unmoving.

_ Dead. _

Before he could think of something, anything he could possibly do, a chime rang throughout what seemed like the entire school, though the one closest to him was coming from inside Angie’s lab. Shakily, he stepped back a bit and turned to look at the rather obvious television resting near the doorway. It had gaudy speakers on each side, the screen turned on and buzzing with static. At last, it gave way to an image of an all-too-familiar black and white bear, holding some sort of glass in its plush paw.

“ _ A body has been discovered! _ ”

“ _ Please gather outside the ultimate art lab on the fourth floor! _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY im writing this super casually in my own time and i'll be posting the chapters as i feel like it rather than as i write them in order to reduce stress (:


	2. Reunion

Shuichi’s legs burned with effort as he sprinted across the courtyard, Maki forcing herself to match his pace so as not to leave him behind. While she herself didn’t appear winded, there was a paleness to her face that not even she could hide. 

The door to the school was pushed open, the two rushing inside and not even daring to stop and catch their breath before rushing towards the stairwell. Who had died? And why??

“There’s no use panicking now,” Maki suddenly spoke up as they turned a corner. “You’ll be no good as a detective if you’re hyperventilating at the crime scene.”

While Shuichi felt like he could disagree, he chose not to. To a point, Maki was right, but at the same time, as they climbed their first flight of stairs, he felt as if his heart were about to burst out of his chest. The third killing, the third time a friend had killed another friend - not even he could take it after so long.

But if he didn’t, who would?

“Hey guys, wait!”

The two stopped at the sudden noise, looking over their shoulders to find Kaito jogging towards them. He stopped, out of breath and eyes heavy with bags from sleep. Just as he inhaled to speak, Maki interrupted. “A body has been found,” she said matter of factly, but not coldly, “so we don’t exactly have time to stand around and visit. You can talk while we head upstairs.”

And thus they continued to rush through the school, albeit at a slightly slower pace to accommodate Kaito. He struggled to keep up, asking breathlessly, “Who the hell died this time? Don’t tell me that r…” He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple visibly bobbing in his throat, “r-ritual actually worked??”

“That’s ridiculous,” scoffed Maki, hand trailing over the railing as the trio reached the second floor, rushing over toward the stairs leading to the third. “We already established that it’s just fiction. A murder is reality, no matter how much Monokuma wants to turn it into a game.”

That seemed to shut the conversation off, even if she hadn’t intended to do so. The weight of the assassin’s words hung heavily in the air around them, as if that statement alone made them realize that someone else had died.

No. That someone else had been murdered.

The three reached the fourth floor rather quickly after that, Kaito holding himself as their pace slowed. Swallowing down his anxiety, he was the first to speak. “Monokuma said… outside the art lab, right? And that’s down this hall, yeah?”

“If he wasn’t mistaken,” replied Maki, her own arms at her sides and hands balled into fists. If Shuichi didn’t know better, he’d say that they were shaking. “But he hasn’t been yet. It makes me wonder how he’s able to pinpoint where these murders occur and when.”

They walked past the anthropology lab and around the corner just as a loud scream was heard. Not wasting any time, they rushed down the hall and stopped before two figures upon the floor. One was Tsumugi, collapsed and trembling. Next to her was…

“Damn it,” Kaito muttered from behind them as Shuichi’s heart threatened to crawl up his throat. Beside Tsumugi was…

Angie.

She was face down, her previously pristine white hair now caked with blood. After being the most vibrant and animated person in the school, now she was silent and still. If anyone had survived the game… it should have been her. 

Shuichi, as distraught as he felt, noticed that Tsumugi’s gaze was not on that of the corpse, but the doorway. She had an arm extended, one finger shakily pointing at the empty space with her eyes as wide as saucers.

“Maki,” the detective croaked, turning to her as his blood steadily ran colder and colder, “I think the killer is still in there…”

She didn’t hesitate. Maki, as quick as a flash of light, jumped to her feet and rushed inside the art lab. A thud was heard, then a second, and then, silence. That was enough to rouse Kaito, who turned even paler and leapt over the body to rush inside after her.

A third thud was heard. Shuichi rose, swallowing hard, and shakily moved over to the door to step inside. Whoever was in there wouldn’t have been so stupid that they would have killed Maki and Kaito like that, right-

Three figures resided inside the art room. First, there was Kaito, who had fallen back with his eyes closed. Second, there was Maki, her face pale and hands visibly shaking before her. And third…

Shuichi’s first assumption was that his eyes were playing tricks on him. His second was that it was just the statue Angie had made. But then the figure, back pressed to the wall as he sat against it, spoke. It was a voice Shuichi had heard only faintly in dreams since the day he saw the corpse in the library.

“Hey,” Rantaro said, voice tired and ragged. He managed to force a small smile, and for a few seconds, Shuichi thought that he may faint just as Kaito had. But then Maki was talking, quickly and to the point.

“Who are you?” she asked bluntly, leaning over the man with narrowed eyes. “You’re some sort of actor working with Monokuma, aren’t you?”

Rantaro held a hand up in mild surrender, shaking his head. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s me. I’m back… somehow. As far as I can tell, Angie brought me back. Again, I don’t know how.”

“Did you kill her?”

Shuichi’s voice was rough like sandpaper, unaware of how fervently his hands were wringing before him. The detective tugged at his fingers, trying desperately to keep his posture straight as he continued, “Out of self defense, or…?”

But Rantaro only shook his head, moving to push himself to his feet under Maki’s watchful glare. “She told me she was going to go get some sort of council to bring back here. I heard a thud outside the room about five or ten minutes later, and when I opened the door, she was…” He sucked in a breath, “... yeah. Look, I know this isn’t the time, but I have to ask -“

Another scream rang out. The others had arrived. The three inside the room briefly looked at one another before Maki ultimately decided to head out first, with Shuichi and Rantaro (reluctantly) following behind. As soon as he came into view, another round of screams rang out, the former wincing at the sound and sudden overlap of voices.

“Rantaro?!”

“But Rantaro dead! Saw him in library!”

“If that really is Rantaro, did he come back just to kill Angie? What kind of fucked up shit are you into?!”

“Everyone, please calm down. Logically, this makes no sense. Surely we will reach a conclusion in due time. It may be Tsumugi, for example.”

“Tsumugi can’t cosplay real people, dumbass!”

“No be mean to Kiibo!”

“Um, I’m also right here…”

“ _ Everyone, please!” _

All of them turned from Rantaro to Shuichi, who had spoken at a higher volume than intended. Ignoring the buzzing in the back of his head from all the noise, he held up both of his hands, mouth curled downwards into a small frown as he spoke. “Two  _ really _ major things just happened, and I know it’s confusing, but we won’t get anywhere if we don’t try to take things one step at a time.”

“Is Kaito dead, too?!” gasped Tenko, whom was peering into the art lab past the three of them. This caused another round of mumbles to flood over the crowd. Maki only shook her head and pointed at Rantaro, who slightly flinched at the sudden movement.

“He fainted,” she bluntly replied. “Shuichi is right; somehow, you all need to calm down-“

Far too familiar footsteps were heard, plush and small as they grew closer and closer. A familiar black and white bear stood before them, the permanent smile on his face seeming to stretch at the sight of the corpse on the floor and the green-haired man in the doorway. 

Before he could comment on the situation, three smaller bears appeared before them, seeming to have leapt from the other end of the hallway. “Rise and shine, ursine!”

“Fashionably late as always!” Monokuma exclaimed, clasping his plush paws together eagerly. “This is quite a sight for sore eyes! She actually raised the dead, and look where it got her!”

Himiko tugged her hat down over her eyes, looking away from the body and muttering something inaudible. If anyone had to guess, she’d told the bear to shut up. Monokuma, if he had heard it, was unphased as he turned to Rantaro and held a paw to his “chin” with a tilt of his head. “I wonder if you did it, hmm? Imagine resurrecting someone from the dead only to have them kill you!”

“Sounds like the plot of a bad horror anime…” Monophanie mused, rocking back and forth on her feet and purposefully looking away from the body. In fact, she was looking at the wall instead. “Poor Angie… Rantaro, that was very mean!”

“I didn’t-“

“Argue about it at the class trial!” Monokuma cut off, holding his arm up and releasing a snicker. “For now, you’d better get your butts in gear and start investigating! Otherwise Rantaro is gonna get sent right back to hell!”

“Were you really in hell? Was it real hot?” asked Monotaro, suddenly interested in the discussion, but his father was cutting him off again.

“Check your handbooks, all of you!” he exclaimed. “It’s… the Monokuma File! Study it well! I’ll be seeing you all at the class trial!”

With that, he scampered off into the darkness, his three children following behind after a brief “bear-well.” Everyone’s pockets chimed when their monopads updated with the case file, though nobody moved to take them.

Shuichi, as usual, was the first to speak after the silence. “I know this situation is weird,” he said, “but we need to focus on the investigation. If Angie died for nothing, we could never forgive ourselves.”

The silence was deafening, Shuichi scanning the crowd until his eyes locked on Korekiyo, who was staring at Rantaro not with fear, but with wonder. Predictably, he was the first to speak. “The ritual worked… but how?”

“I thought you were mister occult; what’s so surprising about it?” scoffed Miu, as if she herself weren’t as pale as a sheet and finding herself flinching each time she met Rantaro’s eye.

“There is a big difference between speaking to or channeling the dead,” he replied as he stepped forward, “and actually resurrecting someone from the grave. It’s incredible; like something out of fiction…!”

He stepped up to Rantaro with wide, curious eyes looking down at him, and inhaled to speak, a hand raising, but then Himiko of all people spoke up. “Hey… if Angie could bring Rantaro back… why couldn’t we bring her back, too? We could just use the ne… neck grow…”

“Necronomicon,” Kiibo corrected for her.

“It’s gone,” said Rantaro, which brought everyone’s eyes back to him again. “I think Angie burned it while I was waking up…”

“Or  _ you _ did to make sure we couldn’t bring her back!” Tenko accused, a prominent scowl on her face. “Typical from a degenerate like you!”

“I didn’t-“

“Were none of you listening?” Maki interjected with a mildly annoyed sigh. “Shuichi is right. We need to focus on investigating before figuring out what to do with Rantaro-“

“Himiko does raise a valid point,” Korekiyo suddenly interrupted, much to Maki’s visible chagrin. “While we may not be able to bring her back fully… a seance may be effective. We will simply channel Angie’s spirit into that of a medium and ask her who killed her.

“We’re in luck, actually,” he continued. “My lab holds the supplies required for an ancient seance known as The Caged Child. Surely killing two birds with one stone would be efficient, would it not? I’ll need four people to help with the seance, if anyone wishes to help.”

Himiko was the first to speak, looking down at Angie’s lifeless body with a small frown. “If Rantaro can come back… I know that we can talk to Angie. I’ll use my magic to make sure we do.”

“I’ll come, too!” Tenko piped up, immediately stepping up next to Himiko with her arms firmly at her sides. “I’d follow Himiko anywhere!”

Himiko tugged her hat over her hair again, muttering, “Nyeh… nobody asked you to…”

Kiibo and Ouma also volunteered alongside the two, Korekiyo looking rather pleased as he, at last, stepped away from Rantaro. “Perfect. We’ll set up in… hm. Where would be a good place?”

“Why not empty rooms down hall?” Gonta suggested. 

“Maybe the middle one?” Himiko added. “The middle one is always the best one, cause I said so.”

“The center room it is, then,” replied Korekiyo. He turned to Rantaro, his gaze lingering before looking over to Shuichi. “Do feel free to keep investigating. And please… keep an eye on Rantaro. I have a feeling we’ll have much to discuss, given we survive the next class trial, of course.”


	3. Surprises

“So they’re dead?”

“Yes... unfortunately. Kirumi was the last to pass, via her execution.”

Kiibo had been filling Rantaro in on the details of what had transpired since his passing, for he had not-so-subtly been encouraged to leave the seance, Shuichi taking his place. Barely anyone had spoken to Rantaro during the investigation leading up to that point, being met with little more than apprehensive glances and flinches in response to his movements. He supposed he couldn’t blame them.

The man held a hand to his chin, the other supporting his elbow. Kirumi killed Ryoma, and Kaede had killed him… but that wasn’t right. He remembered seeing someone just before he had died, but…

“If you don’t mind my asking,” he finally spoke up, eyes flitting up to meet Kiibo’s own reflective ones, “how… did Kaede kill me, exactly?”

Kiibo visibly hesitated at the subject. He looked to the side, a hand raising to linger in midair. Before Rantaro could form a change of subject, the robot at last replied, voice as measured as he could manage, “It was with a shot put ball from the warehouse. She had arranged books along the shelves in the library to send one rolling down through the vents, and it… well, it hit you on the head. Supposedly, you died instantly.”

… That didn’t sound quite right to him. Rantaro recalled seeing something fall, but that hadn’t been what hit him on the head. It was true that a shot put ball or something akin to it killed him; the dull, lingering pain in his skull was proof enough of that. But… should he even risk saying that?

“But why would she do that?” he asked instead. “I didn’t know any of you for very long, but Kaede especially didn’t seem like the type to murder.”

“From what I can recall, she was… trying to stop the mastermind of this game,” Kiibo replied as his lips tugged downward ever so slightly to form a small frown. “And she had set up a camera to lure who she thought was the mastermind in place so she could kill them. It… was an accident, through and through. But murder is murder, no matter the consequences.”

Something about this didn’t feel right. Rantaro knew, somehow, that Kaede had not killed him. The ball that had dropped at his feet that fateful day had not been the one to kill him. Unless she had two at her disposal? But one alone was heavy enough to smuggle around; having the weight of two or more was bordering on illogical.

“I understand that it’s a lot to take in,” Kiibo spoke, interrupting his thoughts and making the man glance back up. “And that what happened to everyone was tragic. The others may believe I cannot empathize with the situation, but…”

The pain on his face was evident, gaze casting downwards to the floor as his hands fell to his sides with a soft, metallic creak. Rantaro was somehow grateful for the distraction as he reached an arm out and carefully placed his hand on Kiibo’s shoulder, giving him a lopsided smile when he looked back up. “Hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Kiibo. It’s death… everyone handles it differently. Even robots.”

That seemed to help him, if even just a little, for a small smile of Kiibo’s own grew on his features. “Thank you, Rantaro. I appreciate that. I guess… all we can do is hope that there are no more killings after this. It’s strange, actually.” Folding his arms casually, he looked up at the taller man with slightly knit brows. “I don’t understand why there was a killing. There was no motive at all - not one that held much weight, anyway.”

“... Motive?” parroted Rantaro, a brow quirking in response. Kiibo had mentioned how the second murder had been motivated by personalized videos, and the first was due to the sudden time limit, but… 

“Angie destroyed the flashback light before we could view it,” Kiibo went on to explain. “She, ah… well, she had her reasons.” His face flushed subtly in the dim light of the hallway, briefly bouncing on the balls of his feet. Rantaro chose not to question it. “Not that the flashback lights typically provide a motive… I just find it odd how aside from the necronomicon, there was no obvious motive. Bringing you back from the dead isn’t a reason to murder, so why-”

“It’s because of everyone being so buddy buddy.” 

The two looked to their sides to find Miu approaching them, one hand absentmindedly fidgeting with a lock of her hair. She continued with a roll of her eyes, “Come on, you didn’t even tell him  _ that?  _ Listen, Monokuma broke or something, and his little crotch goblins decided they’d proclaim world peace. Wouldn’t let anyone argue. And  _ then _ Angie starts a cult where everyone has to get along and praise the lord or whatever. That’s why there wasn’t a murder.”

“Miu, if I may,” asked Kiibo, who received a cursory glance and a bored, quirked eyebrow in response from the woman in question, “I think it would be best if we all stayed on the fourth floor during the investigation, lest anyone become suspicious.”

“I didn’t kill anyone, ya tin can!” she snapped, teeth briefly bared before she reached into her shirt and pulled out a cylindrical object, unable to be made out clearly in the darkness of the hall. Rantaro’s eyes widened and, frankly, he was about to assume the worst before a light came from one end of it. “I was getting a flashlight from my lab! It’s darker than a bedroom at night without any candles, and let me tell you, that shit is depressing.”

Briefly, Rantaro considered commenting on the observation that Miu didn’t actually seem all that upset. However, he realized that everyone dealt with death differently. He himself likely didn’t seem any different, and nor did most of the others. He also had to remind himself that everyone else here had seen their fair share of dead bodies by that point.

“Let me know when the weirdos finish their seance,” she requested, knocking the flashlight against her hip when it flickered in order to get it to stay lit. “Or don’t. It’d just be appreciated. Can I program you to follow timed orders, actually?” she asked, regarding Kiibo with her free hand moving to rest on her hip.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t,” replied Kiibo. “But I will do my best to remember your request. Why is it that you want to know?”

Miu released a groan - a sound that bordered on inappropriate - and dropped her head backwards to look at the ceiling. If she wanted to express how annoyed she was at the question, thought Rantaro, a sarcastic tone would have sufficed. “I just want to know so I can avoid them! Or is that too suspicious of a reason??”

Rantaro felt a smirk play at the corners of his lips as he spoke up, “Awfully defensive.”

Her head dropped back down, looking unamused. “Yeah and you look awfully…” she hesitated, grasping for an insult before a triumphant grin spread over her features, visibly proud of her incoming insult, and continued with vigor, “like a virgin! Ha!”

“Good one.”

The conversation seemed to end after that, Miu scoffing as she brushed past the two. They looked after her as Rantaro tucked a hand in his pants pocket, bracelets on his wrist softly jingling with the motion. “I didn’t really get the chance to get to know you guys before I died.” That was weird to say. “She kind of reminds me of one of my sisters. She’s really loud and mouthy, but in an endearing way. Miu is kind of the same, just more…” He stalled. “... Well. Just more in general.”

Kiibo turned back to Rantaro, antenna above his head wobbling in the process. It reminded Rantaro, visually at least, of toys his sisters used to play with at young ages - the ones that wobbled with wild abandon, but would never truly fall or disconnect. The association made the smile on his face grow more amused, which seemed to confuse the robot if his expression indicated anything. Even so, he did not acknowledge it when he spoke, instead commenting a touch curiously, “I didn’t know you had sisters. If I may, might I ask what they’re like?”

The smile turned bittersweet, hand shifting in his pocket. He… hadn’t thought about his sisters since he’d woken back up. Was that wrong? Whether it was or not, a guilt of sorts found itself moving over him regardless. Kiibo was staring at him still, and suddenly the thought of speaking about them made his throat grow dry as if he shouldn’t at all.

Silence fell between them, brief but awkward. Kiibo’s expression grew a touch embarrassed, and he had just inhaled to presumably apologize, the words nearly escaping his lips, when a voice cut through the quiet. It was coming from the empty rooms further down the hall, sharp and terrified.

“ _ TENKO!!! _ ”

No time was wasted. Both Rantaro and Kiibo rushed down the hallway, the former nearly tripping in the process before picking his feet back up. The eerie hallway around them wasn’t helping the pit in his gut or the sweat that had begun to already bead on his brow,

It seemed they weren’t the only ones who heard the call. From near the entrance, Gonta and Tsumugi ran up with paled expressions, everyone looking to the center room door with visible apprehension. The silence was too much to bear, and all it took was a wail from inside to prompt Rantaro forward. His hand found the doorknob, and he pushed it open.

It was dark - too dark. Any residual light in the hallway wasn’t enough to reach the inside of the room, and the lit candles on either side barely illuminated the silhouettes of those standing inside. The silence was suffocating. 

Someone pushed past Rantaro - Kiibo, if the metal jab to his shoulder was any indication - and suddenly, an incredibly bright light filled the small room, everyone flinching.

When his vision cleared, Rantaro quickly found that he wished it hadn’t. Inside the room was an intricately drawn white circle, marred by footsteps that had to have belonged to Himiko. The young magician was on her knees by a black iron cage, and beside that cage lay…

Tenko.

Himiko was the only one moving at all, her shoulders trembling with fervor and lips quavering. Even so, no tears came, her small form curling in on itself as she held Tenko’s lifeless hand tightly in two of her own. The crack in her voice made Rantaro’s heart sink, and he wanted nothing more than to walk up and comfort her as she asked simply and quietly, “Why…? Why did she…”

Rantaro observed the room. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath collectively, unable to tear their eyes away from the crime scene. Somewhere down the hall, the body discovery announcement played, yet nobody acknowledged it. 

Ouma stood in one corner, eyeing the other three in the room with him, suspicion in his expression. Shuichi held a hand to his mouth, trying his best to maintain his calm. Korekiyo seemed the most perturbed out of the three, a hand to his chin and brow knit. “Why indeed…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i know this is kind of standard chapter 3 but i PROMISE i have things planned. we just have to go through the motions of chapter 3 first. also sorry this one's short rip


	4. Association

The Monokuma File was distributed without much conversation to be had. The kubs seemed uncharacteristically downtrodden at the scene, and hadn’t lingered for too long. Monokuma was talking, but nobody was paying him any attention.

“We haven’t even had enough time to properly mourn Angie,” muttered Maki to nobody in particular, though Shuichi heard it, his head turning to her. “And we already have to deal with another dead body… No wonder Monokuma is so chipper.”

Shuichi swallowed around the lump threatening to grow in his throat, looking back over to the crime scene and finishing Maki’s thought for her out loud. “The game’s getting interesting for them.”

“Monokuma,” Korekiyo spoke up as he walked up to approach the bear, seeming to wince at the ruined salt circle at his feet, “I have a question, if you’ll entertain the thought.”

“Hmm?” replied the plush, tilting his head curiously up at the anthropologist. “And what is that? You know I can’t give you any hints!”

“I’m aware,” he replied. “We don’t know for certain yet as to whether or not these murders were carried out by one person or two. If there are two blackened, then are there two executions? Will we have to expose both?”

“Nah, that’s too much work,” Monokuma responded, waving a paw alongside the statement. “I like to say first come, first serve! If there’s a second murderer, they wasted their time! Only Angie’s death is gonna be on the table in the trial room.”

Korekiyo exhaled quietly with a shake of his head, hand to his chin. “It seems hardly fair to me… but rules are rules for a reason. Or is that another one you just made up on the spot?”

“So there’s no reason to investigate here?” Miu piped in before Monokuma could finish. “Thank fucking god! Fucking sick of these dead bodies. Come on, Kiibo.”

She made a move to the door, but Kiibo stayed rooted to his spot against the wall, hands resting comfortably on his hips. “I’m afraid I can’t. I have to be the beacon of shining light that guides the path before us - or in this case, before this room.”

“Nobody should leave the crime scene until we’re done investigating,” Shuichi chimed in. “We can’t take the risk and assume that Angie and Tenko’s murderers aren’t one and the same. If we solve the mystery behind Tenko’s, that could help us with Angie’s.”

“What if it’s not, though?” asked Tsumugi, her brow creased with worry. “What if we just end up wasting time…?”

“It’s still worth a try,” Maki commented before Shuichi could respond. “You’re telling a detective to not do what he’s supposed to in situations like this. That alone warrants some suspicion.”

“Maki,” Shuichi said with a nervous little laugh, “I’m not really a detective-“

“Do you want to die?”

“Um,” spoke a voice from the far end of the room, the two looking up at the source. Gonta’s face was paled, his nose tinted red from tears. “Kaito still asleep in art lab, right? Gonta can guard him… just in case third murder happens.” His hands were folded before him, though they visibly trembled as he continued to speak. “Gonta supposed to protect friends, but he could not protect Angie and Tenko… Want to protect friends now if Gonta can.”

Shuichi found himself smiling sadly and opened his mouth to speak, but a chilling voice cut through the brief silence. “That’s kind of a stupid plan, isn’t it?“ Ouma remarked with a snide grin. “What if the killer jumped out at one of us while you were gone? Then what?”

The harrowing expression on Gonta’s face in response said more than words ever could, but just as Maki took a step towards the teen, Ouma only shrugged and rested his hands behind his head before moving towards the exit. “You guys do what you want. I’m gonna go investigate. You know, like what we’re supposed to be doing.”

He leisurely strolled out, ignoring Shuichi when he spoke his name in a feeble attempt to stop him. Gonta’s hands held themselves tighter, the beginning of tears budding in his eyes. 

Korekiyo rested his elbow in his hand, palm lightly pressed against his cheek. He broke the silence by commenting, “Gonta, do not let his words sway you. Kaito absolutely needs some sort of protection while he is otherwise unavailable to us… and I assure you that if something happened here, we could handle it.”

Though his tone was casual, Shuichi found a shudder run up his spine at the memory of Korekiyo threatening Ouma in the anthropology lab. Gonta looked over to the man and gave a quiet sniff as he replied in a slightly watery voice, “Then… then Gonta will do his best to protect Kaito… Gonta promise!”

After giving a rather loud sniff to combat any further tears, he promptly left the room. Miu threw her hands up with a groan and headed out after him. “I’m outta here. I could use some relaxation… Kiibo?”

“Again, Miu, the light. And I’m unsure as to how I would even do that to begin with. I’m certain that there are facilities in the school that could help with your stress-“

“Just can it!” the woman groaned, stomping out and leaving the seven alone.

Rantaro had been quiet during the ordeal, standing against the bottom left corner’s wall. It was as if they had forgotten he was there, but he couldn’t blame anyone but so much. They had gotten used to him being… well, dead. 

He pushed himself off of the wall and strode forward to where Shuichi stood, meeting the shorter man’s eye. “I know I’m a suspect, but if there’s anything I can do to help…?”

Despite expecting it, he still had to stifle a frown when Shuichi solemnly shook his head. “I’m sorry, Rantaro… I really don’t think you could have done it, but I have to take every possibility into account. It’s nothing personal…”

However, Rantaro only cracked a small smile, waving a hand absentmindedly to emphasize his understanding of the situation. At least, that’s how he hoped it came across. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Good luck in the investigation; I’ll try not to get in your way.” He paused, brows briefly raising before he asked, “I know this isn’t a good time, but before I forget to ask… do you know what happened to my monopad?”

Again, he shook his head. Maki had seemed to grow impatient, for she had already stepped up to the corpse and lowered onto one knee to observe it. “I’m sorry, but no… Monokuma probably has it, if I had to guess.”

Rantaro nodded once and gave Shuichi a brief thanks before leaving him alone to investigate. Arms crossing casually over his chest, he found his brow creasing in thought. It was obvious that Shuichi wouldn’t know, but he did want to make sure of things. If Monokuma had it…

Without any sort of announcement, he exited the room and entered the dark hallway. Before he could think on the subject any further, he stalled. Ouma laid on the ground just outside the door, face down and…

His heart dropped to his stomach, the man wavering as he held a hand out towards the wall for balance. This was too much; it was all too much -

“It’s a lie!”

Ouma moved his head upwards, blood trickling down his smiling face as he got to his feet. This, however, didn’t help Rantaro any. If anything, it made him feel even more faint and nauseous. Briefly, he thought to scold him for scaring the living daylights out of him, but paused just long enough to take note of Ouma’s own shaky stance and distant gaze. He frowned, asking, “What happened to you?”

“I was exploring the other rooms and fell through the floor,” the teen replied, wobbling ever so slightly where he stood. “I tripped and hit my head; split it right open, heh… ooh, I’m dizzy.”

… Damn it. He’d have to find out about the monopad later. Rantaro shook his head and spoke, “You can’t leave that untreated. Is there an infirmary in the school anywhere?”

“If there is, there’s no doctor in it,” he replied, staring down at the palm of his hand with slightly widened eyes. “Whoa…”

There had to be a bathroom nearby somewhere, at the very least. Rantaro sighed and moved forward, and Ouma jolted a bit when he stopped before him. “Come on; that needs to be taken care of, and I doubt you’ll do it on your own.”

Ouma tilted his head upwards to meet Rantaro’s eye, though he seemed to be having trouble focusing. After a long silence, he simply replied, “... Kay.”

“You probably can’t walk, can you?” Rantaro asked, hand resting on his hip. “That’s why you were on the ground in the hall. That means the injury was pretty bad. You can lean on me if you need to-“

“Can you give me a piggyback ride?” Ouma interrupted, dulled eyes widening up at him as he held his arms up. “Please?”

Rantaro hesitated. He sighed. He weighed his options.

And two minutes later, he had Ouma laying in his back as he walked down the hall, arms tiredly draped over his shoulders. 

He released another sigh as he turned the corner past the anthropology lab and commented, “I think I saw a sink in the art lab; there should be soap in there, too.”

“You suck at piggyback… ugh,” muttered Ouma into the back of his head. “Hurts to talk… and think… stupid floor…”

“Yeah, you tell the floor who’s boss,” Rantaro replied with a roll of his eyes and small smile. The smile immediately faded as he turned the next corner, lips curling downward into a frown. 

Angie’s corpse was still in the hall; he didn’t know why it wouldn’t be. Wishful thinking, he supposed. Then again, he hadn’t expected himself to walk down the hallway before him again anytime soon.

“Move,” Ouma grumbled, and Rantaro did so with a shaking sigh. Trying his best to avoid looking at the unmoving body, he sidestepped inside the art lab and released a breath. Kaito still laid on the floor, while Gonta sat upon a paint can that looked comically small in comparison to his large body. He looked up when Rantaro entered, gasping and jumping to his feet.

“He fell and hit his head pretty badly,” explained Rantaro as he carried Ouma over to an empty table, nudging him a few times to make him slide off of his back. After a roll of his shoulders, he glanced around before spotting the sink in the corner and moved over to it.

“How Ouma fall?” asked Gonta, hesitantly moving towards the teen, who held his head in a hand and brought his palm back to find blood on it. “He won’t die, will he??”

“It takes more to kill me than a stupid bump on the head!” Ouma indignantly replied, only to groan and hold his head again, eyes squinting shut.

Rantaro had since found a rag, getting it damp before grabbing the bottle of soap and moving back over to the table where Ouma sat. With one hand, he moved the boy’s bangs back, and with the other, he placed the warm rag against the wound. Ouma hissed under his breath, an eye squinting open. “Ow…”

“Sorry, but you’ll have to bear with it,” Rantaro replied. “And by the way, I really think you should apologize to Gonta for what you said.”

“I was just stating facts,” he muttered, eyes closing as the rag shifted, though one popped open again when Rantaro moved it back to put soap on a non-bloodied section of the cloth. Their eyes met, and Ouma immediately looked away, lips forming into a mild pout.

“I meant what you said at the crime scene,” the man sighed, moving forward again to dab at the wound once more. Ouma gripped his knees and sharply inhaled at the sting the soap gave him, eyes tightly closed. Rantaro continued, “Gonta just wants to help, and you know it.”

“Gonta no mind!” the man in question spoke up, though his expression was anything but convincing. “Gonta know Ouma stressed from killing game. All friends are. Sometimes people say things they not mean.”

“Still, he should apologize,” insisted Rantaro, gently wiping away a trickle of blood. “Go on then, Ouma.”

“Bite me,” he muttered, tucking his palms into the sleeves of his shirt. “I’m the ultimate supreme leader; you can’t tell me what to do…”

“I can tell you that you’re about a breath away from a concussion and that I won’t wrap your head if you don’t apologize,” Rantaro bluntly replied, removing the rag and standing back up to find a substitute for a bandage somewhere in the lab’s mess.

“I’m not some stupid kid you can just boss around,” Ouma muttered, but then met Rantaro’s eye again from across the room, the latter’s gaze reminiscent of a disappointed mother’s. The teen released a groan, wincing briefly at the pain, and turned to Gonta, who looked pensive at best, and deadpanned, “Fine. Sorry.”

“It’ll have to do for now,” sighed Rantaro, having found some stray cloth that he was currently tearing into a long strip. He stepped back over, moving Oumas bangs back again to carefully place the fabric over the wound. “You remind me of one of my sisters,” he quipped, “but you’re infinitely more stubborn. There; too tight?”

“No,” Ouma replied, raising a hand to touch the cloth and run his fingertips over the surface. “It’s fine. Thanks, I guess. Why are you getting all mushy about your sisters?”

Rantaro shrugged as he picked up the soap bottle, dispenser dangling off of his index finger. “It was just on my mind is all.”

“It’s sentimental shit like that that’ll get you killed,” Ouma dryly commented, then quickly added, “again.”

“But Gonta love friends and bug family, and Gonta not dead!” remarked Gonta from nearby.

“In movies, the nice guy always dies like, midway, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Ouma replied, which only served to make Gonta’s face pale again.

“ _ Ouma _ .”

They stared at each other.

Ouma sighed.

“ _ Sorry _ .”

“It okay,” Gonta replied, nodding in affirmation. “Gonta stay on his toes now.”

“Idiot,” muttered Ouma, turning away with a wince at the movement. Rantaro stepped around Kaito, who was still unconscious. Ouma squinted up at him as he approached and quipped, “Why do you care, anyway?”

“Like I said, you remind me of my sister,” shrugged Rantaro. “And I know people like that would sooner tough out an injury than actually take care of it.” Hands resting on his hips, he sighed quietly before continuing, “There. You’re as set as you can be. You might want to rest up before the trial starts.”

“You’re gonna end up dying all over again if you keep up this goody two shoes crap,” Ouma bluntly spoke, pushing himself off the table and cursing when his balance was less than perfect. A hand braced against the table’s surface, taking in a breath and glaring up at Rantaro. His face was flushed pink from embarrassment, and the taller man had to do everything he could to not smirk at the sight. Ouma continued, “In case you forgot, this is a game. And being nice to everyone isn’t going to help you win it.”

“You’re welcome,” Rantaro replied, and finally did grin at the befuddled expression on Ouma’s face. Though the boy scowled, Rantaro only shook his head and cut him off by continuing, “You can lecture me all you want once that wound is healed. For now, go rest somewhere and don’t trip over any more floorboards.”

“You’re not my fucking mom; you can’t tell me what to-”

“If Rantaro stay here, Gonta can take Ouma back to dorms,” Gonta spoke up with a smile. “And Gonta can make sure he not run around and get hurt again. If Rantaro not mind.”

Despite the appalled expression on Ouma’s face, Rantaro only chuckled and replied as he casually folded his arms, “I’m fine with that, yeah. That would help a lot, actually; thanks, Gonta.”

“Gonta help friends,” the man beamed, and stepped up to Ouma. Without warning, he promptly picked the teenager up and placed him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, turning to leave. Needless to say, Ouma didn’t exactly approve of the method.

“LET ME DOWN!” he snapped, legs flailing over Gonta’s broad chest. “This is- ow! Fuck!” 

Rantaro gave him a brief wave as they disappeared out of the door and down the hall, leaving him in silence once more. He released a breath and peered down at Kaito, who still laid upon the floor out cold. Well, that had been a nice distraction at least. Maybe he still had time to-

Kaito began to stir, Rantaro sucking in a breath as the astronaut’s eyes fluttered open, half lidded. “Wh…”

“Please don’t faint again,” said Rantaro, holding up both hands. Kaito’s head turned to look at him, squinting as if trying to process what he was seeing. Once he did, his eyes grew wide as saucers, skin paling, and attempted to scramble backwards, “Wh-what the-”

A chime rang through the school, the television nearby turning on. Both men’s heads whipped over to look at the display upon its screen, showing Monokuma leisurely holding a glass, much like he had before during the body discovery announcement.

“Dearest students!” said the squeaky voice through the television’s speakers, “Head to the trial grounds at your earliest convenience! Which is to say, right now!”

The television shut off, Kaito holding a hand to his head wearily. “Wh-what the hell is going on…”

Rantaro, against his better judgement, sighed and stepped over, taking Kaito’s free hand to help pull him to his feet. “I’ll fill you in later. We should go before one of the exisals comes and  _ forces _ us to leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if oumami shippers so much as BREATHE in the comments' general direction IT'S ON SIGHT. anyway sorry for inactivity i've been cosplaying. you know how it be. also i haven't been writing for a couple days but im excited to work on ch5 soon!! thanks for your continued support on this guys


	5. Debate

If Rantaro was being completely honest with himself, he had no idea what was going on.

Well, he had  _ some _ idea. The setting was so bizarre that it was all he could think about. The trial room was extravagant and oddly artsy, with reflective podiums along with stained glass windows that surrounded them to obscure the outside world. Monokuma sat upon a high chair out of their reach, his remaining three children standing beneath it on a platform. 

To his direct left was Maki, and to his right a standing portrait of Kirumi with a large red cross drawn over her face. It seemed like a jab in his opinion, but he hadn’t had the chance to speak. It wasn’t really worth bringing up anyway, he thought.

The trial had been… slow. It hadn’t lasted more than ten minutes so far, but it felt like hours. One - or two - of the people in the room had killed their fellow man in cold blood. It left the air stinging with tension, so dense and thick that it was nearly suffocating. Yet, everyone was eerily calm, almost unnaturally so. 

His name being spoken jarred him out of his daze. It had come from Tsumugi, whose face seemed a bit pale as she looked over at him.

“Isn’t it possible that Rantaro may have… killed Angie?” the woman tentatively asked. “To be resurrected, only to kill and die again because of it… wow…”

His stomach instantly twisted in a knot.

“As much as I hate to admit it, we  _ did _ see Rantaro at the crime scene,” Shuichi said, though it seemed to visibly pain him to do so. “And he did look frazzled, but…”

“But what?” asked Ouma, resting a hand on his hip. His head was still bandaged up, though one end seemed to be coming loose. Rantaro had to catch himself before moving over to adjust it. “Don’t tell me you believe in him or whatever. Isn’t that Kaito’s thing? We don’t need  _ two _ blind dumbasses in this trial.”

Kaito had been pale and not entirely there ever since he had woken up, pointedly staring at the center of the trial circle so as to avoid looking at Rantaro. Ouma continued snarkily, “But I guess he’s pretty compromised right now, so I understand you lightening the load for him.”

“We’re not making any progress,” interrupted Maki. “We need to figure out the mystery behind Angie’s murder.”

“And Tenko’s,” muttered Himiko, who had been flexing her fingers against her podium, teasing at the idea of taking hold. “We can’t forget about Tenko like that; she’s just as important…”

“But her murder doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” scoffed Miu with a roll of her eyes. “Monokuma said only the first one does.”

Himiko’s jaw clenched tightly, hands trembling on the podium’s surface. “Doesn’t matter…?”

“Isn’t it impossible for me to be the murderer?” Rantaro spoke against the lump in his throat. “I remember reading in the handbook before I died that a body discovery announcement plays when three people find a body.” He held a hand to his chest and continued, “It went off as soon as I saw it… that means two other people saw it before me, right?”

“Huh?” Gonta asked, eyes wide.”Partners… in killing?”

“Monokuma, what happens if a blackened is an accomplice?” asked Korekiyo, leisurely glancing up and over to the bear.

“Only the one who actually carried out the murder receives punishment!” he chipperly replied. “So if the blackened had someone working for them… well, the accomplice will get off scot free! Given you guys can actually choose the correct person during voting time, anyway.”

“Thank you.” He turned back to his peers, folding his arms comfortably over his chest. “If there is an accomplice, it is very likely that they were not actually aware of this fact. Monokuma tends to keep such information to himself until someone thinks to ask…”

“Hey, the game wouldn’t be any fun if you guys knew stuff like that!” the bear retorted, plush paws moving to his mouth as he released a childlike giggle.

Everyone ignored him.

“But who would want to kill Angie?” questioned Kiibo. “She’s done nothing wrong in recent memory. Breaking the flashback light doesn’t seem like it alone would be enough to drive someone to murder.”

“Nothing wrong? You’re still fuckin’ brainwashed?” snapped Miu.

“It…” Kaito spoke up, wetting his lips and clearing his throat before continuing a bit more clearly, “had to be one of the student council members, right? Didn’t Angie say a while back that she would only open the door for them?”

“Maybe it was Tenko,” mused Ouma, a finger to his chin as he grinned mischievously over at the astronaut, “and Angie’s ghost came back for revenge.”

Kaito swayed where he stood, gripping the podium tightly as he barked, “Don’t  _ say _ that! Cut it out!”

“This isn’t the time for joking around,” agreed Maki as she glowered over at the teenager. Ouma simply shrugged and rested his arms behind his head, not saying any more.

“After what happened with Rantaro, it’s not all that surprising…” Tsumugi commented. “Gosh, it’s like something out of an anime… the dead come back to life and kill those who wronged them!”

“Seriously, stop it!” Kaito exclaimed, voice cracking on the last word as his jaw clenched.

Rantaro shook his head and spoke up, “Angie had just left the art room when she died. She was out in the hallways looking for the student council, I think. It’s possible that anyone could have killed her - not just them.”

“And do you have an alibi for that time?” questioned Korekiyo, a brow quirking over at the man. “Or rather, one anyone can confirm?”

“Rantaro was inside the art lab when we arrived,” Shuichi spoke up. “And… he looked just as shocked as we did.”

“People can act well when their lives are on the line,” Ouma piped up. “For example, did you know that I’m a descendant of the emperor of Japan?”

“Really?” Gonta gasped. “So that make Ouma prince?”

“You bet.”

“Majesty! Gonta be gentleman for prince. Please teach Gonta how to be proper gentleman! Gonta never understand what forks to use at dinner…”

Silence fell over them for a brief moment. Shuichi and Ouma locked eyes, and the latter only smirked.

“Gonta,” Tsumugi carefully said, “that was a lie.”

“Back on topic,” Maki interrupted, ignoring Gonta’s flabbergasted expression, “I also saw Rantaro at the crime scene. I can account for the fact that he looked nearly shellshocked. And besides that, we didn’t see anyone else at the scene, except for…”

“Tsumugi,” Shuichi finished for her, looking over at the woman in question with a skeptical gaze. “I don’t want to think that either of you did it, but you  _ were _ there when we showed up.”

“Wh-what?!” Tsumugi gasped, both hands moving to her chest and resting atop each other. “I was frightened by Rantaro and I fell!”

“So it was Rantaro that scared you, and not the dead body?” Ouma observed, tilting his head over at her curiously. “Suspicious.”

“Of course the dead body scared me, but I didn’t have time to react before the next thing I know, I see Rantaro right there, walking and talking like he was never dead at all!”

“No,” Maki suddenly said with a shake of her head. “They would still need a third person present to trigger the body discovery announcement.”

“Is it possible that someone may have stumbled across the body, then ran away from the crime scene?” Kiibo suggested, pointing a finger upwards to further emphasize his words. “They could have been too frightened to go and get help - either that, or they were too shocked to properly react. Was any evidence found to confirm such, Shuichi?”

“None that we could find,” he replied. “If that happened, they didn’t leave anything to indicate that they had been there. But Kiibo’s right; there had to be a third person who saw the body. So who saw them?”

“I bet it was Himiko; she’d run off crying if she saw something like that,” scoffed Miu, shifting her weight to one leg.

“Which I would have heard,” Rantaro interjected with a slightly knit brow. “When she found Tenko’s body in the seance room, she screamed.”

“And she and Angie  _ had _ gotten pretty close…” Tsumugi agreed, a hand to her chin. “She wouldn’t have run away like that.”

“Unless she killed her!” Miu fired back. “Come on, you guys can’t buy the cute little girl schtick for so long.”

“Himiko not kill anyone!” Gonta exclaimed all of a sudden, chest puffed up and his lips pursed in a line, looking rather defensive. “Himiko… she is like baby. Babies do not have body strength to kill person.”

“I’m fourteen,” muttered Himiko, arms folding snugly over her chest. “I’m not a baby.”

“We’re going in circles here,” Korekiyo spoke up with a quiet sigh. He raised a hand to tug his mask up a bit before refolding his arms, then spoke clearly and calmly, “ _ I _ was the one who saw the body.”

The silence was brief, interrupted by Maki glowering over at the man and asking bluntly, “And you never thought to bring this up?”

“I didn’t find it important to the debate until now,” he replied, unperturbed. “I figured that if I didn’t speak up soon, you would keep going back and forth and nothing would be done. That’s all fine and good - except for now, when our lives are on the line.”

“Kiyo,” Shuichi said, looking confused, “why didn’t you go get help?”

“I assumed that it would garner immediate suspicion,” he responded. “If I was the one to gather everyone to the body, would that not immediately put me at the top of your list of suspects? It was less cumbersome in the long run to stay quiet about the ordeal.”

“But now you’re suspect number one!” snapped Miu, pointing over at him with a scowl. “So how about it, toothpick? You killed Angie, didn’t you??”

“You’ve forgotten about the third party who had to have seen Angie’s body,” Korekiyo replied, listing his head over at her with slightly narrowed eyes. “I did not kill Angie, so don’t act as if it’s fact when we’ve just established that it couldn’t be true.”

His tone seemed to ground Miu, who muttered something under her breath and tugged her hand through her tangled hair. Everyone chose to ignore the flush to her cheeks.

“So… we’re back to where we started, then?” Kaito finally piped up, looking even more drained than before. “So literally anyone could have killed her. We haven’t gotten anywhere with this.”

“Let’s establish who would be on the fourth floor during that time,” Shuichi said. “Maki and I were in the courtyard training, while Kaito was resting in his room. We saw Gonta, but he didn’t make us go back to the dorms.”

“I was in my lab reading,” Korekiyo added.

“The student council was awake at the time,” said Kiibo. “Gonta was in the courtyard, as Shuichi said. Tenko and Himiko were patrolling the first floor, while I myself was in charge of keeping watch over the plaza.”

“So that leaves Ouma, Tsumugi, and Miu with no alibis,” concluded Shuichi. 

“Um,” Himiko spoke up, looking up a bit from behind her hat and inhaling to speak again, but Kaito was interrupting her.

“It was probably Ouma; he could weasel his way around the school and up to the fourth floor. He’d be smug about it, too! Like he is right now!”

“When is Ouma ever  _ not _ smug?” innocently asked Tsumugi with a tilt of her head.

“Um-”

“We can’t throw accusations around without any solid evidence,” Maki chimed in. “This conversation is going nowhere, and we need to-”

“HEY!!” 

Everyone started and looked over to Himiko’s podium, whose jaw was clenched and hands balled into fists at her sides. Once she had their attention, her confidence seemed to wither, for she looked back down at her feet as her shoulders grew slack. “I… I wanna solve Angie’s murder too, but… can we please talk about Tenko, too? Even if the killers  _ were _ different, her… her life isn’t meaningless…”

The silence that fell was heavy, but Shuichi was the one to finally break it. “Himiko… you’re right. We should cover every angle that we can so we know for certain-”

“There’s no need,” Korekiyo suddenly spoke up, all eyes turning to him. He released a sigh, cheek resting in the palm of his hand. “The trial will continue to loop around and around until Monokuma tires of us anyway. As this lends no consequence to me presently, I will confess.”

Everyone was quiet. Kiibo leaned forward a bit and asked, “You know who did it, Korekiyo?”

“Technically, yes,” he replied, eyes skimming over to Himiko, who was staring at him with her own wide ones. They were growing wetter with every passing second, and the first tear fell just as his gaze finally shifted to land on Shuichi.

“ _ I _ killed Tenko.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo are trials supposed to be this hard to write  
> anyway hi yes i promise i'm not overworking myself or anything i'm just on a roll with writing the trial and i'm excited to get it out there so.... first time posting right after finishing a chapter that's cool  
> your support for this has been so heartwarming!! the comments on yesterday's chapter cheered me up so much that i ran right to my laptop to write after i woke up haha


	6. Guilt

If the trial room had been tense before, that was nothing in comparison to how thick the air was at that moment. Everyone’s eyes were on Korekiyo, his own closed with his arms leisurely folded over his chest.

“Now isn’t the time to fuckin’ joke around!” Kaito exclaimed, holding up a fist with his lips curled downwards in a tight scowl. “For someone who keeps saying that we’re getting sidetracked, you’re not exactly helping!”

“I don’t think he’s lying,” said Shuichi in disbelief, staring over at the taller man. His palms were clammy, and he attempted to combat this by pressing them against his sides. Shakily, he wet his lips before adding, “He… doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would sidetrack a trial like that…”

“I simply brought it up so that Angie’s investigation can become more productive,” Korekiyo quipped. “As I am not at risk of losing my life, there’s no danger if I confess.”

“No danger? Like hell!” barked Kaito. “You just signed your own death warrant! What the fuck’s wrong with you?!”

“Ah, right,” Korekiyo said, opening his eyes with a light tilt of his head. “You were unconscious during both investigations. Monokuma informed us that if there is a double murder with two culprits, only the first will be put on trial. Tenko’s case is trivial in this courtroom because it isn’t the murder presently on the table.”

“Why?” said a small voice, everyone turning to Himiko. Large, wet tears were trickling down her face, and for perhaps the first time since they had all met her, she cried out, full of emotions she couldn’t withhold any longer, “Why would you kill Tenko?! Why?!”

Korekiyo stalled - briefly, but still visibly. Shuichi picked up on it, brow knitting before the anthropologist replied coolly, “I didn’t plan to kill Tenko specifically. In fact,  _ you _ were almost the one to be found dead beneath the cage, Himiko.”

The girl’s face paled, hands trembling where they rested on the podium before her. The silence that followed was even worse than before, nearly everyone around the room looking shaken. Somehow, confessing so casually was worse than doing so under duress. There was no guilt on Korekiyo’s features, his painted eyelids shutting as he adjusted his arms. The man looked downright nonchalant.

“You didn’t answer her question.”

Rantaro had been the one to break the silence, every word spoken the verbal equivalent to trying to trudge through thick, dense mud. It strained him to even speak; not even he had fully realized how badly it was affecting  _ him _ , of all people. Something about the situation made him feel as if something heavy had been abruptly placed on his shoulders, weighing him down in ways he couldn’t even describe.

He thought he was going to be sick.

“Why would you kill at all, Korekiyo?” he continued, fighting back against the lump in his throat as his hands balled into fists at his sides. “What prompted it? From what I’ve been told… there was no motive. And you really don’t seem like the kind of-”

“ _ Ha! _ ” exclaimed Ouma, making everyone jolt. He was staring over at Rantaro with wide eyes, amused grin nearly stretching to his ears. “Doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would kill someone, yeah? Is that what you were going to say? Thinking like that is gonna be what gets you killed again! We don’t know anything about each other, but especially not you! You’ve been dead this entire game, and you think  _ you _ can judge people based on  _ assumptions? _ What an  _ idiot! _ ”

His harsh tone made Rantaro’s stomach twist into no less than two knots, painted nails digging into the palms of his hands. He hated the snarky attitude, the sudden accusations, and feeling as if he were a breath away from suffocating from the stress in the air around him. But most of all, he hated that Ouma was right. He didn’t know any of the people here. He was as lost as he had been when he woke up in that classroom all those weeks ago. Had it been weeks? Days? Months? How long had he been dead?

Rantaro was a breath away from a panic attack when Korekiyo spoke, his voice thrumming in his ears despite standing relatively far away. His words held a slight fondness as he said simply, “I did it… for love.”

“It really  _ is _ like an anime…” mused Tsumugi, looking at him as her hair leisurely draped over her shoulders with the movement. Korekiyo, despite standing right next to her, did not acknowledge the comment.

Korekiyo was speaking again. “The obvious intent was to escape… but I cannot say that the ordeal was a total loss. Ah, yes - I was not in my lab reading last night.” He paused, then continued, “I was preparing my trap… The one that took Tenko’s life so swiftly.”

“So that means you still could have fuckin’ killed Angie!” Miu barked, narrowing her eyes over at him with a hand firmly planted on her hip. “You don’t have any alibi anymore! Besides, you don’t seem worked up over killing Tenko, so why would you be if you killed Angie, too?!”

“Because I did  _ not  _ kill Angie,” he replied coolly. “So perhaps the topic of discussion should shift back to that. I myself have suspicions, but I worry that none of you will care to listen. Though, I understand. Your reactions to my murder are all very... human.”

Shuichi was still rather paled, arms resting over his torso in a feeble attempt to hug himself. Fingers tapping against his side erratically, his gaze flitted up and over to the anthropologist. He hated the idea, but he didn’t have any other leads-

“It was probably Miu.”

They all turned to Ouma, who looked rather proud of himself for stealing Korekiyo’s spotlight. His hands rested behind his head, which he winced only briefly at before continuing, “Her, Korekiyo, and Tsumugi are the most suspicious. Tsumugi was too brainwashed by Angie to kill her, most likely, and Kiyo… Well, let’s just say I’m good at picking up on when a person is lying, and he isn't. Not about the murder… or about what he was doing that night.”

Korekiyo briefly dipped his head in thanks at Ouma, but the teenager ignored him. Miu scoffed with a roll of her eyes and quipped, “Oh, come on. You think someone like me would kill someone just to get out of here? Where’s your proof? You can’t just throw accusations around.”

“Miu, you do that  _ every _ trial,” Tsumugi commented.

“Yeah, Miu’s right,” Kaito piped up. “I mean, why would bringing someone back from the dead be a motive for someone like her?”

Shuichi finally spoke, “Maybe… it wasn’t the motive itself, but the person who was killed.”

All eyes were on him, the detective forcing himself to stand up a bit straighter with the newfound attention while his hands lowered to his sides. “Angie was determined to, for better or for worse, make us all want to stay here in peace. It worked on some of us… but not everyone. A lot of us really do want to get out of here; we have families, friends, and homes to get back to… and someone trying to force us into enjoying imprisonment could be seen as a threat.”

“But Angie couldn’t do anything to be a threat,” said Tsumugi with a tilt of her head. “She was the sweetest girl ever, and she was just looking out for us!”

Shuichi, however, shook his head. “Even you have to admit that her ways of going about it were bordering on cultlike. She was gathering people in pretty quickly, too; whoever killed her may have been worried that eventually she’d have everyone wrapped around her finger.”

“Don’t t-talk about Angie like that,” muttered Himiko, both hands gripping the rim of her hat, which was tugged downwards to obscure her face. The girl sniffed before adding, “I thought you were supposed to be the ultimate d-detective, not ultimate… ultimate…”

“Ultimate pain in the ass?” offered Ouma chipperly. “Ultimate useless nerd? Oh, I know! Ultimate Captain Obvious!”

Himiko didn’t respond.

Shuichi also ignored him, though he couldn’t hide the small frown on his face - though it wasn’t for Ouma, it was for Himiko. He always hated this part of the trials, but he had to push through as best he could. “We… can’t know what Angie wanted - not entirely. We won’t be ever be able to know now… but what we can do for her is bring her killer to justice. And right now, by order of elimination alone… it’s Miu.”

Miu appeared nervous, but she tended to always look anxious when anything critical was directed at her. She was twirling a lock of tangled hair around her index finger, giving a scoff. “Then where’s your evidence, mister detective? That’s right, you have none! My alibi is rock-solid. Just like-”

“Please wait a moment,” Kiibo interrupted, holding up an index finger. Once he had everyone’s attention, he continued, “As I mentioned before, I was busy patrolling the courtyard plaza last night. As you were all talking, I searched my memory banks for anything from that time, and I realized that a good portion of my memory is simply… gone.”

“And you didn’t notice that before?” asked Kaito, incredulous. “Wouldn’t you notice something like that?”

“As my evening up until the body discovery was pretty uneventful, I assumed I must have just spaced it out; I think that’s what the saying is, anyway. But anyway, between 10:00 P.M. and 10:20 P.M., I have no data.”

“Did someone hit Kiibo on head?” asked Gonta, eyes full of concern. His face was still flushed red from the occasional tear, and had been quiet ever since Korekiyo’s confession. Even the thought of a friend being in pain was enough to pull him to reality, it seemed.

“It would have to be a pretty hard blow; I doubt that anyone here has that kind of upper body strength - aside from you, Gonta, but I know that you didn’t do it.”

“Maybe someone hit you with a tool?” suggested Tsumugi, a finger to her chin in thought. “Like with a rock or something? Y’know, like…” She raised her arms as if holding something, bringing them down a bit faster than expected. “Like that?”

A strangled noise came from the other side of the trial circle, Rantaro’s hands flying out to grip the edges of his podium. It was as if he would fall on the spot if he let go. He met Tsumugi’s eye, but she was all innocence, tilting her head in confusion.

“I know this is a very tense trial,” said Kiibo, looking at Rantaro with concern, “but I think that this has to be addressed. It could lead us to the culprit.”

“It had to be Miu,” Maki suddenly spoke up. Like Gonta, she had been very quiet ever since the midway point of the trial. Her gaze was as cold and distant as it had been since the early days of their stay at the ultimate academy as she briefly looked to Korekiyo before shifting her gaze over to Miu. “Tsumugi is a possibility… but I don’t think it’s worth looking into. Miu’s lab was in the plaza; she could easily sneak up on Kiibo. She also knows more about him than anyone here, technically speaking. Whether it was via blunt force or reprogramming, she knew how to incapacitate him for a certain amount of time.”

“I  _ did _ find the times Kiibo mentioned to be suspicious,” said Shuichi, folding his arms in thought. “They were incredibly precise, and even if it was a coincidence-”

“Miu, did you open my control panel?!” Kiibo suddenly exclaimed, both hands flying up to the back of his neck as he looked over to the woman in question with wide eyes. “I requested you let me know before doing things to my body like that.”

“I didn’t do jack  _ shit! _ ” Miu exclaimed, jaw tight and bangs haphazardly resting over her face. It didn’t exactly help her nervous appearance. “I bet a fuckin’ bird flew by and dropped something on your head or some shit.”

“It wouldn’t have caused such a crash in his system,” Maki replied with a shake of her head. “It seems more likely that he was programmed to go into some sort of sleep mode for a specific amount of time. Only  _ you _ would know how to do that.”

Miu inhaled sharply through her teeth, a bead of sweat trickling down her brow as she looked amongst her peers, several pairs of eyes on her. When she met Korekiyo’s, she stuck out an accusatory finger. “ _ That _ freakshow is the one who killed Tenko! So obviously he killed Angie, too!”

“We have already established that I did not,” the man replied calmly. “So, Miu, why  _ was _ it that you disabled Kiibo for such a specific amount of time? You have the spotlight.”

Miu had begun to tremble, having taken to tugging her fingers tersely through her hair to keep her hands busy. It seemed that Himiko had run out of tears, peering up from under her hat and over to Miu with wet brown eyes and a knit brow. Her lip quivered, visibly swallowing back the urge to cry out. 

“I-I just wanted to talk to her, alright? God!” she exclaimed, roughly yanking a hand down through her long blonde locks. “Is that a fuckin’ crime? I didn’t kill anyone!”

“Then why did you think it was necessary to disable Kiibo?” questioned Shuichi with a deep frown. “Miu… please just tell us the truth.”

“Because he would have snitched on me if he saw me outside at night, you fuckin’ moron!” she barked back, teeth bared. “Is it so wrong to try and keep my ass covered?”

“I… I didn’t see Miu,” said Himiko with a small sniff, “when I was patrolling the first floor… s-so… maybe it really was Rantaro or s-something…”

Miu stalled, head whipping to her side to look at Shuichi. The look of horror in her eyes said more than words ever could, but he knew that he had to expose the truth. 

“I think that Himiko was probably distracted,” he finally said, looking back over at the girl. “She was with Tenko, after all… and Tenko was always trying to get Himiko’s attention. It wouldn’t be that hard to sneak past them.”

“What about Gonta, huh?!” Miu shot back. “He would have seen me!”

“The courtyard is pretty big,” Shuichi replied. “It wouldn’t be hard to just take the long way around and enter the school via the dining hall door.” He sucked in a breath, brows upturned and lips curled down into a frown. “Miu…”

“Everyone shut the fuck up! I didn’t do shit, so why are you all looking at me?!” the inventor exclaimed, gripping her hair so tightly that more than a few strands snapped and fell leisurely over her fingers. “Stop fuckin’ staring at me! What, are you all into some weird voyeurism bullshit?! Keep your stupid fucking fetish away from me!”

“Miu,” Maki said coldly, leveling her glare at Miu when her head whipped around, “it’s over.”

“I’m getting bored,” Monokuma suddenly piped up, feigning a loud yawn as he stretched his plush arms. “So I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s voting time! Everyone cast your votes now, and remember! If you don’t, you’ll get punished, too!”

“Wow, two punishments?” Monotaro awed, paws in front of his chest as he looked over to his sister. “You think you can handle it, Monophanie? I know the executions make you kinda-”

“Stop! I don’t wanna think about it!” the pink bear exclaimed, raising her hands in an attempt to slap them over her ears.

The small screens in everyone’s podiums turned on and showed a list of all the participants, everyone’s portraits smiling up at themselves. Small beeping noises filled the trial room as everyone cast their votes, though the timer didn’t stop as it usually did. Someone hadn’t cast their vote.

Rantaro was swaying where he stood. He had been for the past several minutes, in fact, and the nausea in his chest was threatening to climb up his throat. Vision blurred, he blinked hard before forcing his arm down to jab a finger onto Miu’s icon on the screen. The screens turned off, and a larger one lowered down from the ceiling behind Monokuma to show the vote tally. 

The screen lit up with a portrait of Miu alongside the votes, which consisted of ten votes for her and one for Korekiyo. It was a wonder that Rantaro could even focus on that much.

“Class trial,” said Monokuma as he jumped to his feet chipperly, “all rise!”

The podiums’ lights turned off, though nobody moved from where they stood. Gonta, surprisingly, was the first one to speak, a genuinely somber tone to his voice that would make anyone’s heart crack. “Why… why Miu kill Angie?”

Miu metaphorically resembled a balloon that had lost all of its helium. Her hair was a mess, goggles askew atop her head, and her eyes were bloodshot from the stress of it all. Some of her energy came back, however, in the form of anger, as she snapped indignantly, “I’m the ultimate fucking inventor! I have to get out of here! I have to get the fuck out of this hellhole of a school and keep making things for the world!”

“And Angie trying to convince us all to stay here…” Shuichi started, but didn’t need to finish the thought.

“I couldn’t fucking deal with it, alright?! I didn’t want to kill her!” the woman exclaimed. “I brought a wrench from my lab just in case, but I didn’t…”

“No, you went with the intent to murder,” Maki bluntly interrupted. “Because if you got away with the murder, then you could leave. If she stayed alive, that anxiety would just be perpetuated.”

“I didn’t expect boy wonder over here to come back from the fuckin’ dead, or for creepshit to go crazy and kill someone!” she yelled, voice cracking with the effort. “I just want to fucking get out of here, and now I can’t! I can’t fucking make anything else that will mean anything!”

“Nope!” Monokuma happily said, hopping down from his chair. “In case you hadn’t guessed already, it’s true! The blackened for this case is none other than Miu Iruma! Congratulations on not screwing it up, guys!” 

“ _ Fuck _ you!” Miu cried out, taking a step back and stumbling briefly before gripping her podium again for balance. “Fuck all of you; fuck this school, fuck that stupid fucking bear, and fuck… fuck _ this! _ ” 

“Now then!” Monokuma said loudly, drowning out whatever she may have said next, “I’ve prepared a very special punishment-”

“Why won’t you punish him, too?!” snapped the woman, pointing an accusatory finger over at Korekiyo. “He killed someone, too! Why can’t it be him? Why are your rules so fucking stupid?! I can’t fucking-”

“-for the Ultimate Inventor, Miu Iruma!”

Miu shoved herself off of the podium and stepped backwards, her hands shaking violently before her. All eyes were on her, her own as wide as saucers and brimming with tears - tears of anger, of fear, of emotions they couldn’t even fully make out. 

“Let’s give it everything we’ve got!”

“FUCK YOU!” 

Miu turned and stumbled briefly before running, but the telltale chain was already lowering from the ceiling and advancing on her, seconds away from dragging her away to her demise.

“ _ IT’S PUNISHMENT TIME!! _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i probably wont be able to work on the next chapter until i finish my replay of v3, cause my memory of what exactly happened with rantaro and tsumugi is pretty vague.... but on the bright side, i'm currently in chapter 6 in my replay? lol so not too much of a wait for sure


	7. Breakfast

All hopes of having proper rest that evening had been snatched away by vivid, visceral nightmares. Too many times did Rantaro wake up to a pitch black room that night, often accompanied by a strangled cry heard by no one.

The nightmares kept shifting. Miu killing Angie, bludgeoning her until she barely looked human. Korekiyo’s eerie gaze at the end of a dark hallway. The execution from mere hours beforehand that he couldn’t find himself looking away from. Miu running and falling, being pushed along overly intricate tracks where one chain of events lead to another for what felt like forever. A giant ball had fallen on her. Her blood had splattered it ways that no film could ever emulate.

And finally, someone with glasses and long hair, grinning madly as they slam a ball against Rantaro’s head, making him crack like glass and splatter blood just as Miu had.

He awoke with a gasp at the sound of the morning announcement. Clammy hands gripped the comforter beneath him, his pillow damp with sweat and his eyes wet with tears. The Monokubs were talking on the television, but all Rantaro could do was stare up at the ceiling with blurred, unfocused vision. White noise was deafening in his ears, the man forcing his hands to unclench from the blanket.

The television turned itself off, and he was left in silence once more. It occurred to him that he should probably take a shower, if for no other reason than to wake up a bit. Somehow, someway, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, moving over to his closet. As before, multiple copies of his clothes rested inside. The mere thought of questioning it made his head hurt.

Rantaro entered the bathroom and turned the water on as hot as he could stand it. After quickly undressing, he got inside and simply… stood there. Water trickled down his face and dripped off of his eyelashes as he stared down at the shower floor, feeling more zombie-like than human.

He wasn’t used to letting things actually get to him, but the ordeal the day before had been more than enough to break his resolve. Every time his mind wandered back to any memory from the past evening, he felt his stomach seize and fresh tears bud in his eyes all over again.

“First I die,” he muttered to himself, voice scarcely above a whisper, “and now, when I’m alive again somehow, I’m still useless.” A humorless, short laugh escaped him as he ran his hand over his face, neck craning back to look at the bathroom ceiling. “What a joke…”

He couldn’t find his sisters, he couldn’t win the game, and now he couldn’t even keep it together anymore. It wasn’t like him to be so depressed.

Somehow, Rantaro forced his body to wash itself, suds draining away once the water had been turned off and the nearby towel had been wrapped around his body. Briefly, he considered just going back to bed, but the thought alone of experiencing more nightmares made a shudder run over his entire body.

He had just tugged his shirt on when there was a sudden chime coming from his room’s door. The doorbell? With a shake of his head, he pulled on his pants and stepped out and into the main room. His hand found the doorknob, but then stalled, staring down at it.

“... Who is it?”

“It’s me, Shuichi,” said the voice behind the door. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

He wasn’t. He was about as far away from alright as someone could be. But he put on a weak smile despite Shuichi not being able to see it and replied casually, “Yeah, I’m good. Just needed some sleep.”

The brief pause that followed made his smile waver, but then Shuichi finally responded, “... Alright. We still gather at the dining hall for breakfast if you want anything to eat. You need to keep your strength up, you know? I don’t want Kaito to get mad at you.”

His tone was joking, and it made a small dent in Rantaro’s current mood. On the other hand, however, it only made another tear trickle down his face. He couldn’t stand to have people worry about him. It was always supposed to be the other way around.

“Yeah, alright,” he finally replied, rubbing at his eye in order to discard the tear. “Let me put on some shoes and I’ll be there in a minute.”

Shuichi hesitated. “... Would you mind if I walked you there? I… maybe I’m overstepping something, but I don’t want you to be alone after-”

“That’s fine,” Rantaro interrupted, a lopsided smile on his face. He carefully stepped over to the closet, tugged on a pair of sneakers, and headed back to the door, opening it with a casual grin. “Lead the way. It’s been so long that I’d probably get lost, anyway.”

The two headed out of Rantaro’s dorm room, the sunlight peeking in from the frosted glass doors leading outside bathing the hall in an almost comfortable light. Shuichi moved to the door and opened it for his companion, Rantaro stepping out and squinting at the brightness that greeted him.

He didn’t even realize that Shuichi had since closed the door and stopped beside him. His eyes had since adjusted to the light, looking up at the clear blue sky above them with wonder. It had been so long since Rantaro had seen sunlight - since he had seen  _ any _ natural light. A soft breeze blew against his cheek, and it felt as if he would start crying again.

Shuichi’s voice broke him out of his mild daze as he spoke up, “You alright?”

Rantaro forced himself to look away from the sky, his eyes closing as he took in a deep breath of the crisp, fresh air around him. At last, his eyes opened as he turned to Shuichi with a smile that felt a bit more genuine. “... Yeah. Better than I was when I woke up.”

His companion only mirrored his smile with one of his own, nodding once in acknowledgement before heading towards the school. Rantaro followed, the stone path hard and firm beneath his feet. He hadn’t been able to fully appreciate how it felt to walk again. Of all things, gravity had definitely been something he had missed.

“Hey… Shuichi,” Rantaro said as they walked, tucking a hand in his pocket. “How, uh… how long was I, well… y’know. Dead and all.”

The detective took a moment to think on it, a hand moving to his chin. “Maybe… a couple of weeks?” At Rantaro’s raised brows, he gave a nervous laugh and quickly added, “Sorry; keeping track of time here is hard, if that makes any sense.”

“Nah, I get it,” replied Rantaro, though his brow was creased in thought. Even as he held open the door for his companion, his mind was elsewhere. Death had been… well, odd would have been an understatement. During that period, he had no concept of the passage of time. It simultaneously felt as if he had been gone for a few minutes as well as several years. Thinking about it too much made his head hurt.

“Rantaro? Are you alright?”

The man shook out of his daze, nodding once at Shuichi before heading in after him and closing the door. If he could remember correctly, the dining hall wasn’t too far. Maybe food would do him some good.

The interior of the school was just as he remembered. The previous night had been too much of a haze to take in his environment, but that morning was thankfully different. The flora creeping through cracks in the walls and sunlight shining down on the partially grassy floor from outside was as beautiful as it was eerie. He still had questions about the school, the game, the one behind it all… But the questions would have to wait. Rantaro doubted that any of the others had answers, anyway.

Shuichi held open the door that time, Rantaro stepping inside and briefly scanning over the crowd sitting at the table inside. Kaito and Maki sat across from each other, an empty seat beside the former that was most likely for Shuichi. Ouma was fidgeting with his utensils while Himiko sat beside Gonta on the opposite side, her head leaned on his arm and hat over her eyes. He wondered if she was asleep.

Rantaro felt his stomach flip at the sight of Tsumugi, who was absentmindedly conversing with Kiibo. When she glanced up and they met eyes, she was all innocence as she gave the two a smile. “Good morning!”

“Morning, everyone,” Shuichi greeted, moving forward to take his seat beside Kaito. “Have you already eaten?”

“Yeah; Ouma tried to take yours, but I wouldn’t let him,” Kaito chuckled, raising a hand to ruffle it through Shuichi’s freshly brushed hair. The latter couldn’t help but laugh and protest, the act seeming to further lighten the mood of the room.

Rantaro couldn’t understand. How could they be so calm after what happened? Maybe this was just their way of coping, but…

“Where’s Korekiyo?” he found himself asking. The mood of the room seemed to dim a little at his question as the group glanced at one another.

“Kaito wanted to lock him in his room,” Ouma finally chimed in, propping his elbows on the table and letting his chin drop onto his palms. “But I said that it wouldn’t make the game any fun.”

“I was going to bring some food after breakfast,” said Shuichi, who mildly flinched at the glare Maki gave him. “We cant  _ starve _ him; it doesn’t make us any different.”

“Gonta think even Korekiyo need a good breakfast,” Gonta remarked, “Gonta… not understand why Korekiyo kill, but it must have been for good reason. Cause we all friends.”

“Dumbass,” muttered Ouma into his hands, sticking his tongue out in defiance when Maki leveled her glare at him.

… Rantaro felt awkward just standing around, and a bowl of oatmeal didn’t sound very appetizing at the moment. Not saying anything, he watched as the group fell back into their conversations, though Rantaro could feel someone’s gaze on his back as he moved to the kitchen.

The smell of food hit his nose, and immediately he realized how hungry he was. Almost instinctively, body moving before his mind could hesitate, he got to work. His hands found the ingredients he needed, pulling eggs out of the fridge and fruit out of a bowl on the counter. Though his hands were full, he gripped the end of a wrapped loaf of bread with his pinkie, as if he’d done it a million times, and proceeded to place everything down on the counter closest to the stove.

Already, he felt the tension in his shoulders loosen a bit. After nudging a cutting board over and grabbing a sharp knife, he got to work cutting off the tips of strawberries and slicing up bananas. His movements were effortless, the blade cutting through the sweet flesh of the somehow perfectly ripe fruit. Rantaro found a bowl in a cabinet over his head and deposited the sliced fruit into it, tossing it briefly before moving onto the next step.

The kitchen smelt of strawberries as he turned the heat up on the stove to place a pan down. As Rantaro worked, he found a voice in the back of his head questioning him about why he was even doing this. Truth be told, he had no idea. Initially it was just to make breakfast for himself, but…

He shook his head as he placed a loaf of bread with a hole in it in the pan, followed by cracking an egg into its center. “God, I’m stupid.”

* * *

Rantaro had waited until the dining hall had cleared out before heading outside himself. He held a tray in both hands that contained two plates, two bowls, and two glasses, all containing equal portions of a delicious-looking breakfast. Did Korekiyo deserve this? Probably not, but Rantaro didn’t want to go out of his way to make something subpar solely for the sake of it.

He nudged the door to the dorms open with his shoulder, taking in a deep breath when the cool air of the building hit his nose. It was quiet, but somehow peaceful inside, muted light casting a cool blue glow over the area. After a quick glance around, he saw that Korekiyo’s room was right next to his, coincidentally enough, and headed towards the door.

For a brief moment, he stopped. He was balancing the tray between one hand and his torso, the other hand raised to push the doorbell. Why was he doing this? He just had to give him his breakfast and leave. Easy.

Pushing through his anxieties, he moved his finger forward to press the doorbell. The lighthearted chime rang through the inside as he readjusted his hold on the tray, the man taking in a breath to attempt to steady himself. Even so, he couldn’t help but start a bit when the door’s lock clicked and swung open from the inside.

Rantaro would have thought to find it odd that Korekiyo was fully dressed despite supposedly lounging in his room, but it was even stranger to be face to face with someone who openly admitted murder less than 24 hours earlier. The taller man’s brows raised in surprise at Rantaro, flicking briefly down to the tray of food before meeting his eyes once more.

“Good morning, Rantaro,” he greeted, as calm as could be. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

At least he was getting to the point. Rantaro put on a grin and gestured with his head to the tray before replying, “I made some breakfast. Figured you could use something better than whatever they were going to bring you.”

“How courteous of you… Thank you,” Korekiyo replied with an unseen smile. “Feel free to come in; that tray looks heavy.”

He hesitated, and hated that he did. Korekiyo’s brows raised slightly, and that alone was enough to nudge Rantaro forward.

For whatever reason, he had expected Korekiyo’s room to be… well, different. However, it was the same as any other room, though a few things did rest on desk and table; namely books, a few artifacts from his lab, and what looked like a small planter pot near the television.

Rantaro moved to the table and carefully set the tray down just as Korekiyo stepped over to join him, picking up the books resting on its surface. “You’re free to join me; we would just have to sit on the floor. Though I understand if you’re uncomfortable with the proposition,” the man said as he straightened up and moved to put the books back up on the shelf. “In which case I will thank you and leave you to the rest of your day. There is no wrong answer, truly.”

Truthfully, Rantaro wasn’t sure. He still needed to find Monokuma and ask about his monopad, figure out what was going on with Tsumugi, and continue to try and readjust himself to being alive… But he also held many questions for Korekiyo, even if the thought of asking them made his anxiety spike in his chest.

“Sure,” he finally replied, placing the tray on the floor once all of the dishes had been set out. “Nothing worse than eating a meal alone, after all.” He sat cross legged on one side of the table while Korekiyo took a seat at the opposite end, sitting on his knees demurely as he observed the food before him.

“I know that we are scarcely acquaintances,” said Korekiyo as he picked up his napkin and unfolded it to place on his lap, “but I admittedly did not take you for much of a cook. Have you been doing it for long? This looks near professional.”

“Heh, you flatter me,” replied Rantaro with a lopsided smile, picking up his glass of water. Miraculously, he hadn’t spilled it at all since leaving the kitchen. “My folks used to work abroad, so I had to take care of my sisters most of the time. Made ‘em breakfast every morning.”

“Sisters, you say?” Korekiyo asked, stopping the fork he held halfway through the air, a piece of strawberry speared upon its prongs. “How many do you have?”

“Twelve.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s raised brows, quickly taking a sip of his drink before clarifying. “I know it’s a lot, but they’re all family, so it never really bothered me.”

“It must be a lot of responsibility to care for so many,” mused Korekiyo. “I can emphasize; I had to care for my sister for quite some time as well.”

“Guess we’ve got something in common,” Rantaro replied before he could catch himself. Having something in common with a murderer was the  _ last _ thing he wanted. “My sisters are a handful, but I love them. Is yours younger or older?”

“Oh, older,” he replied. “By about four years. Our parents used to say we looked like twins regardless though, especially once I grew my hair out.” A soft chuckle escaped the man as he raised a hand to unzip his mask. “How the years have flown by…”

Rantaro inhaled to ask another question, but briefly stalled when Korekiyo’s lips were visible. Even if they were still somewhat hidden by the zipper, he could see that they were painted ruby red.

His gaze darted back down to his plate before Korekiyo noticed. That was… odd. But then again, lots of things about Korekiyo were odd. He decided not to address it. “Is it alright if I ask why you had to take care of her? With her being older and all.”

“She was sick for a very long time,” his companion replied, followed by placing a piece of egg in his mouth and chewing. After swallowing, he added, “Bedridden, in fact… but I never minded. I was happy to help her, and I learned many things while doing so. For example, I’ve become somewhat of a cook myself.”

Rantaro’s smile in response was bittersweet. “I’ve helped some of mine when they had the flu or something like that, but never on that scale. I’m glad that she recovered.”

Korekiyo gave him a small smile, then the conversation dropped as they quietly ate their breakfast. Even if it had been small talk, Rantaro almost preferred it to the silence. Silence left him alone with his thoughts, and his thoughts were being quite loud at the moment.

Had… Korekiyo killed for his sister? Killing was supposedly the only way out of the academy, supposedly. Monokuma didn’t introduce the “first come first served” rule until after both murders had happened. But Korekiyo had been so eerily calm after hearing the news; wouldn’t he be upset?

… Maybe he  _ was _ , but he was like Rantaro in that sense: far too good at keeping one’s feelings hidden. It was possible.

“I must confess, you intrigue me,” Korekiyo suddenly spoke, startling Rantaro away from his train of thought. The anthropologist speared a piece of bread on the end of his fork, swirling it around in the runny yolk upon his place. “I have studied the occult and things beyond our realm for years and years… I’ve read as many books as I can on the subject, performed countless seances, had spirit enter my body, spoken to the dead… I have even conversed with the god of the dead himself.” He held up his fork, peering at the yellow trail of yolk trickling down one of the prongs. “And yet not a single case of resurrection has been documented…”

Rantaro shifted a bit where he sat and busied himself via popping a slice of banana in his mouth and chewing. It felt like he was being regarded as some sort of thing to study instead of a person.

“I find all aspects of the situation incredibly curious,” the man continued once he had taken a bite of food and swallowed, “as an anthropologist and as an occult practitioner… but even more so as a person. Tell me, Rantaro… What was it like?”

His guest hesitated. Rantaro didn’t mind talking about it in theory, but actually doing so and reminding himself of how it felt and how disorienting it still left him made his stomach turn. 

“... I’m not comfortable talking about it yet,” he admitted, staring down at his food that he suddenly had no appetite for. “I’m sorry.”

When he was met with silence, he risked glancing up, but Korekiyo was busy daintily dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. When he lowered it, Rantaro found that it barely smudged the man’s lipstick. At last he replied, “Of course. I would never want to pressure you to speak about something so tentative. Please, take as long as you need.”

After a sip of his water, he raised a bandaged hand to rezip his mask and exhale with content. “Thank you again for breakfast. It was very kind of you; I intend to return the favor if possible someday.”

“Ah, it’s not a big deal,” Rantaro replied with a lopsided grin. “I like cooking; it reminds me of home. I’m almost done; I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

Korekiyo seemed unbothered, his eyes dipping down as his guest continued to eat. His head tilted ever so slightly to the side as he observed him, and finally, he asked a question. “Is there something on your mind?”

Was he that transparent? Rantaro quickly swallowed his piece of toast and cleared his throat. “Well… yeah, if I can be honest, but I’m not really sure how to say it.”

“Be as blunt as need be; a preoccupied mind can cloud one’s thoughts,” Korekiyo responded. 

Rantaro took in a breath, exhaled, and met Korekiyo’s expectant gaze. Fighting past any urge to make an excuse, he started, “Why did you kill-”

The doorbell ringing startled both of them, the two turning to the door. Korekyo excused himself and stepped up to it, opening it and saying something that made Rantaro’s blood run cold.

“Ah, hello Tsumugi. What brings you by?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ about this chapter but i'm easing into it...... i have ideas its just a matter of structuring them together ykno


	8. Peace offering

The silence was suffocating. Rantaro didn’t know if it lasted seconds or hours; it felt all the same regardless. He didn’t even want to risk breathing, as if that alone would somehow alert her to where he was.

“He _did_ stop by earlier,” Korekiyo finally replied, then continued, “but he left after dropping off my food. He mentioned stopping by the neo-akido lab; perhaps you’ll find him there.”

“Oh,” she replied, obviously surprised at his response. “Alright… I’ll check there. Thank you very much! I hope you enjoy your breakfast.”

“And I hope you enjoy your morning, Tsumugi.” With a quick bow, he closed the door and waited for her footsteps to fully fade before turning back around. 

“Thank you,” Rantaro stammered, surprise evident on his face. “I appreciate it, but why did you…?”

“I assumed that if you wanted her to talk to you, you would have spoken up,” he replied with a light shrug. “It would seem that my assumption was correct. Now; what was it you were going to ask me?”

Oh. Right. Rantaro cleared his throat and took a long sip of his water in order to gather his thoughts, though it didn’t do him much good. Korekiyo seemed to be busying himself by adjusting a few books on a nearby shelf and was as patient as ever, though the lingering silence wasn’t doing Rantaro’s anxiety many favors.

He hesitated. And then, he blurted out, “Why did you kill Tenko?”

Korekiyo’s hands stalled in midair, but then continued to dust off the books he stood before. “I said it during the trial, but I know you were a bit compromised at the time. I did it for love… nothing more, nothing less.”

“I’m sorry if I’m prying; it’s just… strange,” Rantaro said, eyes narrowing just the slightest bit over at his host. “I know that you’re a level headed person, but even now…”

“I understand,” Korekiyo remarked, letting his hands rest as his sides as he turned to look down at his guest. “You’re curious as to why I don’t appear to feel remorse for what I did. Naturally, it was upsetting to find that I couldn’t leave after doing the deed, but I find no reason to dwell on that. There is still time, and still other ways to escape may have yet to be seen.

“And besides,” he continued as his eyes slightly crinkled at the corners with an unseen smile, “it was not all in vain.”

… In any other situation, one would call Korekiyo creepy. And he was, in a way, but a better adjective to describe his demeanor would be “cryptic.” There was something he wasn’t telling Rantaro, and his curiosity was overtaking any urge to get away. Korekiyo wasn’t a threat; he was just… strange.

“How do you mean?” Rantaro carefully asked, hands resting in his lap. Breakfast was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

Korekiyo was still smiling. A hand raised to cup his chin comfortably.

“Because now my beloved sister has one more friend to keep her company.”

Rantaro wasn’t stupid. It didn’t take long for him to put two and two together. Korekiyo’s sister was dead, and he killed Tenko because he thought that she would have a friend in the afterlife. He hadn’t explicitly said that his sister was alive, after all.

He was talking again, peering down at Rantaro from where he stood. “Sister was always very lonely in the hospital. Even though I spent as much time with her as I could, I still had classes and a job to maintain… so she was left alone for long periods of time. I couldn’t bring her friends then… but I can now.”

Korekiyo was talking as if he had experience in the subject. As if he had done this before. The anthropologist released a sigh, looking to the side wistfully as his head tilted further into his palm. “I would hope that the others would understand, but it seems they’re hesitant. Surely I’ll find some way to confront them… It’s no good if a group of friends disperses over something as simple as a misunderstanding.”

Rantaro was quiet. His hands felt clammier than they had been before. But most of all, he felt… concerned. Something about how calm Korekiyo was and how naturally he spoke was off putting in a variety of ways, but mostly because he seemed to believe that what he was doing was right.

Did he even have any right to react like this? They barely knew each other, and Rantaro had enough on his plate already. He hadn’t even noticed that a headache was beginning to form at the base of his skull, the man absentmindedly holding a hand to his head to try and ease it. It didn’t help much.

But he couldn’t just leave this alone. Something was wrong with Korekiyo, and… depending on how long they were stuck at the Ultimate Academy, he may never get any help for it. Hell, he may never be able to talk about it to anyone. But Rantaro was no therapist, so what could he even-

“I do hate to cut our visit short,” Korekiyo suddenly spoke up, causing his guest to look back up at him as he moved to his dresser and pulled out a towel, “but I have a morning bath every day after breakfast, and I’m a bit of a stickler when it comes to schedules.”

“Oh, y-yeah, of course,” stammered Rantaro, moving to get to his feet and fighting the weakness in his knees as best he could. He busied himself with cleaning up the plates and putting them all on the tray once more, finally standing up straight with it in his hands. 

The two men met eyes. Korekiyo was smiling behind the mask, all nonchalance, but Rantaro himself was paled and visibly much more tired than he had been when he’d arrived. The former remarked, “Thank you again for breakfast. Perhaps we could visit again sometime.”

So he wasn’t even going to address what he’d said; that he’d killed for his dead sister without remorse. Rantaro’s brows knit, headache subtly thudding against his temple, but he decided against furthering the conversation - if nothing else, for his own health.

“Yeah,” he finally replied with a small nod. “I’ll… I’ll see you around, Korekiyo.”

* * *

The secret door opened with a loud clunk as the clacking of flat heeled shoes against metal permeated the silence of the room. Tsumugi released a groan of annoyance as she sat down in the plush armchair inside, a leg draped over the arm. Her hand fell over her forehead, and, once again, she released a weary sigh. “I looked all over the school for him, and I can’t find him anywhere!”

A voice spoke from further inside. It was male and muffled, accompanied by the loud clicks of keys being tapped. “He was in Korekiyo’s dorm. Was it not obvious that the guy was lying to you?”

“Well, I had to make sure,” she huffed, letting her hand fall down her face and finally rest in her lap. “I didn’t think Angie was going to actually bring him back, gosh…”

“Is that not your own fault for giving out a usable necronomicon to begin with?”

“I had to make it convincing!” Tsumugi huffed.

A third voice spoke, though this one was incredibly stilted and robotic, like an old computer reciting words that had been typed on its screen. It came from a desk on the opposite side of the room illuminated by a single lamp, a figure hunched over it. “Tsumugi is here, isn’t she? The air changed. She is probably yelling about something.”

The figure by the large Monokuma head at the end of the room typed something into his laptop, and a cracking snort of a laugh came from the one sitting at the desk. Tsumugi rolled her eyes and picked up a pillow from her chair, tossing it over at the latter and missing by a long shot. The figure didn’t flinch. 

“I should just kill him again,” sighed Tsumugi as she pinched her brow, glasses askew on her face. “But-“

“It’s stupid and would ruin the whole plan? Yeah, I was gonna say that too,” the masked one interrupted.

The cosplayer leveled her gaze at him, but he simply shrugged, silhouette eerily illuminated by the laptop screen and the glow coming from Motherkuma. Again, she sighed. “I don’t know what to do… the virtual world was supposed to open up after this trial; I had it all planned!”

“Actually,  _ we _ did.”

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “But then Miu had to go and do something so silly… and so stupid! She was the one who was supposed to open it up, and now we just have a giant computer that’s gonna sit and collect dust…”

“Trust me,” the figure deadpanned, “it hurts me more than it hurts you.”

“I don’t have any ideas,” she sighed, finally swinging her leg over and sitting up relatively straight. “And with Rantaro just walking around out there, how am I supposed to think??”

“With your brain?”

Tsumugi huffed, running a hand over her head before pushing herself to her feet. “If he hangs out with Korekiyo, maybe he’ll die eventually anyway… it would definitely make it easier.”

“You’re talking to a brick wall at this point, y’know?” her companion remarked. “Nothing I say is gonna be paid attention to.”

“But I don’t know if I even want him dead!” she bemoaned, a hand to her chin. “It’s just that he knows too much and too little all at the same time; if he gets the monopad again…”

“See? I’m not even here.”

“But if I don’t give it back, he’ll ask questions about what he saw on it before he died…”

“Blah blah blah.”

“I could always make Monokuma say it was just a lie to make him fall even more into despair…”

“I’m Tsumugi Shirogane and I’ll never be as cool as Junko but I like to cosplay her anyway because I’m a weirdo.”

Tsumugi turned to him then, but instead of acknowledging what he said, she spoke, “I’m going back out for now. I have to figure out what to do or else it’ll all crumble… I’m just plain confused.”

“You couldn’t have thought of that before pulling that stunt at the trial?”

Again, the man was ignored. Tsumugi turned and headed back to the secret door, speaking as she did so, “Come up with something and we’ll figure it out after nighttime!”

“So we cant sleep now?” the masked man called out. “Cool! Thanks, miss leader!”

The door closed behind her.

Tsumugi folded her arms as she walked down the long and winding corridor, her blurred and distorted reflection looking back at her in the metal plates lining the walls. Her teeth found her lower lip and began to chew on it as she attempted to gather her thoughts.

Rantaro was alive, he was remembering things, and he wanted his monopad. If he talked to the wrong person, it could be game over for her. Rantaro was smart almost to a fault; she knew that from personal experience alone.

And it was a problem.

The door to the girl’s bathroom slid open, Tsumugi stepping out and letting it close behind her. If she tried to be friendly with him, he’d get suspicious, but standing around and feigning confusion wasn’t good enough. Or was it? This was all making her head hurt.

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror caught her eye, the woman pausing and moving over to lean in and peer at herself. With her fingers, she pushed up her cheeks a bit and adjusted her glasses before standing up straight and placing her hands on her hips with another huff.

“Alright, Tsumugi!” she exclaimed, pointing at her own reflection with a look of determination on her face. “You’ve got this! You’re a great mastermind, and you’ll figure it out! Life gets a little rough sometimes, but you’ll work through it! You’re the Ultimate Cosplayer, after all! A little storytelling is nothing compared to styling a tangled wig from scratch!”

After planting her hands on her hips once more, she nodded at her reflection and headed outside. The hallway was empty and quiet, the woman releasing a quiet sigh of relief before walking out. It was midmorning at that point, the sun illuminating the mossy walls and grass-covered floor. Tsumugi stopped briefly to peer down at a piece of the ground where a small, pink flower was sprouting between the cracks. It had just bloomed, its bright pink petals a contrast to the dull green and cool blues of the room.

The woman hesitated before crouching down before it and extending a hand. Her fingers found its stem, and in a swift motion she plucked it up and out of the ground before standing once more. Its vibrant surface seemed the polar opposite of the aura the school held; the object in her hands was thriving, healthy, and bright, whereas the school was steadily fading, its walls and floors overtaken by flora due to its age. It left the building feeling dulled and somewhat hollow despite its otherwise modern interior. 

… Maybe she should have picked somewhere else to do this.

Tsumugi found herself walking again, still staring down at the small flower in her hands as it swayed with the motion. Slowly, her mind was clearing bit by bit. She had to approach this situation differently. If she snuffed out Rantaro a second time too quickly, it would throw things all out of order. A killing game was no fun like that - not unless one had a solid plan to work around it, much as she had during the first trial. No, she just… had to be patient.

With her free hand, she pushed open the front door to the school and squinted in the sunlight. As Tsumugi walked, she continued to ponder. She’d already pushed her luck at the trial with the stunt she pulled, and Rantaro was already wary of her. He was smart almost to a fault, and that would be bad news for her if he gained the trust of anyone who could unravel the game.

She stopped before the dorm building, then took in a breath and moved inside. The sudden stillness was almost eerie, but not nearly as eerie as the academy’s empty hallways. The dorms held life at the very least, even if it was sporadic and behind closed doors.

Her gaze flicked over to the girl’s side of the room, at the portrait of Kirumi painted upon one of the doors.

Well,  _ some _ life was here.

Tsumugi turned in the opposite direction, however, and headed to the boy’s side. She ducked under the stairs in order to step up to the door beneath it and to the right, which bore Rantaro’s portrait upon it. After taking in a deep breath, she extended a finger and pressed down on the doorbell.

_ Come to think of it, Rantaro may not even be in there _ , she thought to herself. Maybe she should leave and come back another time, or talk to him next time he was-

The door’s lock clicked and swung open. Her posture straightened, putting on a smile just as the man in question came into sight. Despite his started, suddenly paling expression, she was as nonchalant as could be. “Good afternoon, Rantaro; I was trying to find you earlier, but didn’t see you anywhere… so I figured I should check your actual dorm! It seems plain obvious in hindsight.”

She watched as he visibly went through the motions of swallowing down his apprehension, putting on a smile, and attempting to force his shoulders to untense. “Hey, it’s fine… I’ve just been wandering around. Um.” He cleared his throat, a brow raising somewhat suspiciously, “Can I, uh… is there anything I can do for you?”

“Oh! Well, actually…” Tsumugi looked down to the flower in her hands, giving the stem an absentminded twirl. “You’ve just seemed sort of skittish around me lately, and I was going to ask if I did anything wrong, or if you needed to talk… So I brought you this!” She held up the aforementioned flower, giving him another smile that was more genuine than the one before. “As a peace offering, y’know?”

The man was obviously hesitant, but she could see a brief shift in his expression. It was the slightest hint of curiosity. After a few seconds of somewhat tense silence, Rantaro released a breath and finally replied, “... Yeah, I’d like to talk. You can come in, if you want.” He carefully reached forward and took the flower, turning the stem in his fingers before stepping aside to let her in.

Tsumugi took note that he nudged the rug up by the door to keep it cracked open before joining her.  _ Still as cautious as ever _ , she noted. Rantaro finally turned to her and straightened his posture. His voice was crisp, concise, and to the point. No small talk would be had, it seemed.

“Tsumugi, did you kill me?”

The bluntness of the question allowed her to feign surprise just long enough to get her bearings. She quietly gasped and held a hand to her mouth, her brows raised in shock. “What? What on earth sort of question is that?”

“One that I’d like to be answered,” Rantaro dryly replied as he crossed his arms - though he was careful not to crush the flower he held. 

Her hand lowered, moving to hold the opposite one in front of herself. “Really, I don’t know what you mean… It was Kaede that killed you; remember? Well, I guess you wouldn’t remember…”

He only shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I remember seeing  _ you _ , Tsumugi. You were holding something, then shoved it down on my head just before everything went black. Before I died.” The hold Rantaro had on his arms tightened, flower trembling where it rested between two fingers. 

“But… why would I ever want to kill you?” she asked, blinking her big blue eyes over at the man. “And besides, if I was the blackened instead of Kaede, wouldn’t Monokuma know about it? He’s plain stubborn when it comes to the rules; we would have all gotten punished for voting incorrectly.”

His confidence wavered just barely, but it was enough for her. It meant that Rantaro hadn’t theorized that she was the mastermind yet; just that she was a killer. “... That’s true. But what if he didn’t witness it? You could have slipped it under his nose somehow.”

“Hmm…” Tsumugi held her index finger to her chin in thought. “He was pretty adamant about making sure someone died, so I think he’d have an eye on everyone… and besides, I’m pretty sure he’s got cameras installed all over the place! Haven’t you ever wondered how he knows what everyone’s doing or where they are?”

“Wouldn’t we notice cameras, though?” he shot back. “And if you saw one, you could have just moved it.”

She hummed in thought. “Yeah… but Shuichi had those cameras up. He and Kaede had set up three automatic cameras with sensors, so they were supposed to go off if anyone entered. So even if I did know where a camera was and I moved it, the little disposable ones would have caught me!”

“You could have tampered with the film.”

“One of the Monokids developed it; none of us ever got to see the film reel.”

His lips pursed in thought. Then he sighed. It was then that Tsumugi took note of how tired he looked; how he had bags under his eyes tinted dark purple, or how he ever so slightly swayed every so often as he stood there in the room. After a moment of silence, he asked, lacking the oomph he’d had in his tone previously, “Then why can I remember you?”

Lost. That was how he sounded. It was as if the man used up what little energy he had left on the confrontation and was now hanging on by a metaphorical limb. Tsumugi’s upturned brow to show concern was genuine. “I don’t know, Rantaro… oh! Oh, hey!” She held up a finger in thought as a smile brightened up her face. “What if it was like, a fake flashback light? One that gives fake memories?”

Now it was Rantaro’s turn to crease his brow. “What? A fake…” Lips pursed, he shifted his arms so his empty hand moved to his chin. “I don’t remember anyone shining me with a fake flashback light.”

“What about the flash on the cameras Shuichi and Kaede left in the library?” she offered, which made him glance back up at her. “Maybe Monokuma tinkered with it to produce a miniature flashback light!”

However, Rantaro only shook his head as his arms fell back down to his sides. “It makes no sense to give me memories of a death that nobody saw coming to begin with.”

_ Damn it.  _ “Oh, yeah… well… why not just ask Monokuma about it? He tells us that he can’t lie, so…”

They met eyes again, neither of them changing their expression or stance. Tsumugi was all innocent confusion, and Rantaro looked… tired. Just tired.

“We can meet up again and talk about it after you do that,” she suddenly offered. “Because… I know you’re still confused. I am, too! I don’t understand how you could have misremembered something so important, but I do want to help if I can!”

She must have sounded convincing, because Rantaro finally released a sigh and gave a halfhearted shrug. “I… I need to think this over. Somehow, I’d convinced myself that I’d confront you, you’d confess, and…” He reached up to absentmindedly scratch the back of his neck. “I don’t know, actually.”

After a bit of hesitation, Tsumugi took a step forward. “Maybe… maybe you should rest. Who knows? Maybe it’s just a weird hallucination or something… It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen here, huh?”

That got a laugh out of him, even if it was more of a subdued, quiet chuckle that didn’t hold much humor. It made her smile. “... Yeah. Oh, yeah…” Rantaro looked up to meet her eye, a brow raising. “Why did you want to see me earlier, anyway?”

“Oh, I was just making sure you were alright after yesterday and all,” she replied. “Cause you seemed plain distant at breakfast and didn’t eat with us… so I was worried is all.”

Rantaro paused, then sighed, then held up the flower she had brought him, observing it quietly. “Sorry. I dunno what exactly to be sorry for… but I feel like I should say it anyway. Just to cover my bases, y’know.”

“It’s alright,” replied Tsumugi. “We’ll figure this out, yeah? Maybe we could meet up again after supper if you’ve talked to Monokuma by then…” She trailed off, but then gave a lopsided smile and tilted her head. “Actually, you should probably rest for a while. Just find me whenever you want to talk again, okay?”

Rantaro met her eye again. She could have sworn she saw his bottom lip quiver as if the man were about to start crying, but he swallowed down the urge to do so. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks for being patient with me. I don’t know what to believe right now, to be honest… but I don’t want to think you’re a murderer. I mean…” He gave another quiet, humorless chuckle. “Look at you. I don’t think you could even hurt a fly.”

“I wouldn’t!” she replied confidently. “I always catch and release bugs when I find them in my house or studio. It’s plain to see that I wouldn’t kill _you_ if I couldn’t kill a _bug!_ ”

Then Tsumugi smiled, and Rantaro smiled back. They exchanged brief goodbyes before the former headed out the door, releasing an exhale of relief. That went both better and worse than she had envisioned it would.

Her back touched the surface of his dorm’s door, the woman releasing a sigh as a hand raised to nudge her glasses up her nose. At least she had him doubting himself. That was all she needed for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates + writing in general are kind of sporadic rn because of the You Know flooding all my feeds and zapping my energy  
> now who could those mysterious individuals be. definitely not anyone important. dw about it  
> no proofreading we post after writing and go to bed like MEN


	9. Confrontation

"Are you spying on the weirdo again?"

The robotic voice filled the silence of the room as the masked man glanced up from the abundance of computer screens sitting before him. His companion moved over with a bowl of popcorn and sat down, gloved hands swiftly moving in front of their body as a tinny voice came out of them, translating the movements. "Has he left his room yet?"

"Yeah," replied their comrade out loud as he signed back absentmindedly. "He's in the school now. Looks like he's headed for the store. I hope he doesn’t go to the dining hall."

"Why is that.?" they inquired, peering over a bit at the screens. An olive silhouette was visible as Korekiyo stiffly walked down the western hallway.

"Himiko is in there," replied the man, lifting his mask just enough to flick a piece of popcorn into his mouth. "Alone."

* * *

She had almost forgotten what it was like to be surrounded in silence.

The teenager’s small hands, nearly dwarfed in her sleeves, held onto her mug of steaming hot chocolate like a lifeline. Whenever her fingers wandered from its surface, they began to tremble all over again. Her hold on her afternoon drink was the only thing grounding her to reality.

On any other day, it wouldn’t have been quiet. Tenko would have been there talking and talking, not caring if Himiko ever bothered to respond. She never did. 

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, the magician shakily sighed and brought the mug to her lips. She couldn’t think about it, or else she’d get shaky and panic all over again. Her morning had already been wasted doing that already. She didn’t even know what everyone else was doing, but she found that she didn’t particularly care. It had been like this every day after an execution… but she had never had to go through it alone until then.

Her eyes twitched. She blinked away the urge to cry.

Himiko didn’t peer up when the dining hall door opened. Her view was completely obscured due to how far her witch’s hat had been tugged down her head, only able to see a bit of the table, her arms, and the handle of the mug she held. Somewhat jerkily, her shoulders hunched inward, though no other part of her body moved. It was like she wanted to make herself smaller - as if it would make the newcomer not notice her somehow. 

Eyes closing, she silently urged to become obscured, invisible, anything. Unfortunately for her, those spells were quite hard to control, and despite being an Ultimate Magician, when it came to actual magic, she was still a novice. Especially unfortunate was the voice that greeted her from the doorway.

“Good afternoon, Himiko.”

Her blood turned ice cold, hands flinching against the smooth surface of the mug she held. Helpless, she closed her eyes tightly and prayed that he would go away and not speak to her anymore.

Seems the gods were not on her side that day.

“You seem troubled,” Korekiyo continued calmly, as if he hadn’t murdered her friend in cold blood hours beforehand.

“Go away,” muttered the mage, pulling her shoulders in more snugly. “Why are you even here?”

Footsteps were heard, and it took everything in her to not flinch at the sound. “I was just going to get a cup of tea is all. I won’t be long.”

Korekiyo’s footsteps receded into the kitchen as Himiko swallowed hard, her trembling, painted fingernails softly clattering against the porcelain surface of her mug. He couldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t. Right? Even though she was alone, and the doors were closed…

She gulped again, trying desperately to quell her shaking hands. Her gut was telling her to run, to get out of the dining hall as fast as possible, but she felt stuck, as if she had been glued to her chair. The thought of moving alone made her feel winded.

The sound of metal clinking against porcelain was heard as Korekiyo re-entered the room. Much to Himiko’s dismay, he took a seat at the table. He was three - no, four seats away from her. She didn’t know how fast he was, but if she could muster the energy to move, maybe she had a chance of getting away before he could get his hands on her…

“If you need to speak with me, please feel free to do so,” said the man. Himiko glanced up just enough to see the bottom of his own mug, a bandaged hand resting beside it. The sight alone made her stomach flip. “I don’t intend to harm you.”

She was speaking before she realized it. “But you were… you said during the trial that you-”

“That you were initially going to be the one to die, yes,” he interrupted. “But I assure you that it was not out of any ill will towards you personally. I simply set the trap and let fate fall where it wished to land.”

That didn’t exactly help her nerves any. Himiko asked as she peered up a bit more, “But… why? I don’t understand how you can be so calm… after killing someone…”

“It was for a good cause,” replied the anthropologist. She watched his hands and mug vanish, supposedly to take a sip of his drink. “Tenko is alright now, wherever she may be… I assure you of that.”

“There’s never a good cause for murder!” she suddenly exclaimed, head fully tilting up to face him. The sight of him in full made her confidence immediately flicker and dim, the girl’s shoulders hunching inward as she slouched in her chair.

Korekiyo, predictably, appeared nonplussed. “Perhaps to you… but the circumstances are different for myself. I simply saw an opportunity and took it.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Himiko replied as she desperately tried to keep the tremble out of her voice. “I just… you killed her; you killed Tenko, and you don’t feel anything…”

The man released a hum in thought, bandaged hands wrapped around his mug. “How curious. You two didn’t seem particularly close while she was still alive. For you to be so torn up over her death… it confuses me. I assumed she was more of a nuisance, really.”

“It doesn’t matter!” she exclaimed, voice cracking on the last syllable. The mage looked back up, fighting back tears as she stared him in the eye. “She still… she cared about me, even when I was being gross and standoffish; she just…” The first tear escaped, pooling in the corner of her eye. “She just wanted us to escape together, and I never… I never got the chance to tell her that I…”

Himiko trailed off as she watched Korekiyo’s head tilt, his eyes seeming to crinkle at the corners. Was he… smiling? “This emotion… it’s very unlike you, Himiko. How fascinating it is to watch unfold.”

Her cocoa was forgotten, the girl suddenly bracing her palms against the table and pushing herself up into a standing position. Lips pursed in a thin line, her small form visibly trembling with the effort to not crack, Himiko barked, “Shut up! You don’t even care that she’s dead! All you care about is your weird humanity stuff! You should have been…” She trailed off at the oncoming harsh words about to escape, but pushed through the apprehension. “You should have been the one to be e-executed! You killed someone, so why…”

“Do you hate me, Himiko?” asked Korekiyo, thin brows ever so slightly raising with intrigue. “It would seem that you do. How beautiful this emotion of yours is…” He was smiling again behind the mask. A shudder ran down her spine. “Yet even now, you hold back. Why is that?”

A headache was forming above her left eye, hands unknowingly balling into fists at her sides. Himiko swallowed around the sob welling up in her throat and replied as defiantly as possible, “Stop being so weird! H-haven’t you ever had someone you loved die?!”

“Yes,” he replied bluntly, which surprised the girl. Korekiyo continued, “I was shattered; I nearly lost my mind from the pain it inflicted on my heart… but then I realized that I simply had to take matters into my own hands.” His golden eyes were obscured in shadow from the brim of his hat, giving them an eerie, subtle glow in the light of the room as his smile supposedly widened. “She lives within me, you see… I have no reason to grieve.”

Himiko braced her hand against the table, too shocked to focus on how another tear escaped her eye and trickled down her face. “You… you’re too creepy…”

“That is why I sacrificed Tenko,” he continued, as if Himiko hadn’t even spoken. “It was so my beloved could have another friend in the afterlife. You and Tenko were the only viable ones to send to her… hence why her death was not a loss.”

“You’re crazy!” she blurted out, but her resolve immediately diminished when Korekiyo pushed away from the table and stood. Despite being a few seats away from her, she felt claustrophobic and suffocated. Any move he made caused her to flinch. Shakily, Himiko shuffled away just a few inches, hands staying on the table. 

Korekiyo only stood, as stiff as a doll, though his eyes followed her. “You never answered my question, Himiko. Why are you holding back how you truly feel? I myself have never had the opportunity to speak with a loved one of someone I sent to my dearest… So I find this situation incredibly fascinating.”

They stared at each other for several tense seconds, the only sound being that of Himiko’s heartbeat thudding loudly in her ears. Her sense of fight or flight had been drifting slowly from the former to the latter, and when Korekiyo’s head curiously tilted, she had made up her mind.

Himiko was swift as she pushed away from the table and ran around it, but Korekiyo was faster. When she reached the dining hall door to push through it, all the teen ran into was something soft, but solid - the anthropologist’s torso.

Though she turned to try and run for the door on the opposite end of the hall, her escape plan was foiled by a hand gripping her left wrist and holding it tightly. Himiko released a yell of surprise as she feebly tried to tug it out of Korekiyo’s grip to no avail, eventually turning her head to look up at him.

Tears were trickling down her face, brows upturned only briefly before knitting tightly as she tugged her arm once more. “Let me go! Let me go!!”

“The conversation isn’t over, Himiko,” said Korekiyo. His eyes were slightly wider than they had been before as they stared down at her, which didn’t exactly help the girl’s nerves. Panic was welling in her chest, still occasionally yanking her arm in a feeble attempt to shake his hold on her. For someone so thin and lanky, he certainly had one hell of a grip.

Suddenly, the girl froze. Her blood turned to ice and her feet felt like lead all at once as soon as a thought entered her mind. He was going to kill her. Was he? Why else would he grab her like that, alone in the dining hall? 

Her vision was blurred, though she didn’t even bother blinking it away. Another thought emerged; a solemn, accepting one. If Korekiyo killed her, then she could see… Tenko and Angie…

_ “Survive with me and everyone else!”  _

Himiko started, though the voice came from nowhere. It was a distant memory, yet she could almost hear it as clearly as she did when it had first been spoken. Tenko… would want her to live. She would want her to survive and live her life to the fullest; it’s all she ever wanted for Himiko, even when she wouldn’t give her the light of day…

Her lip quivered, knees threatening to buckle. Panic was rising, her tears were falling faster, and her breaths had become more frantic unbeknownst to her. Despite the newfound resolve to not accept her death, her fear and despair was getting far too overwhelming for her to handle. She didn’t want to die; she couldn’t…

“Yes...” Korekiyo spoke up, breaking the silence. Himiko had no option but to meet his eye, flinching at their wide, curious appearance. “How fascinating… this is how it was when I lost her; that anger, that fear… the uncertainty in your eye…”

“L-let me go,” Himiko stammered, an audible waver to her voice. Weakly, she pulled her arm again, but the movement lacked the oomph she held previously.

“You miss her, don’t you?” he continued, head tilting curiously to observe her, as if she were some sort of object to study. “You miss her so much that you could just die right here and it wouldn’t even matter to you, is that right?”

“No!” Himiko exclaimed, which seemed to surprise the man. His brows raised as the girl shot back, “I c-can’t die! I have to stay alive for her!”

A shudder ran down her neck when Korekiyo responded in the form of that eerie, crackly laugh of his. He held her arm up a bit, which forced her to stumble forward and directly meet his almost wild gaze. “That resolve is  _ beautiful _ , Himiko! This emotion; it’s been inside of you for so long, dormant, and now it’s finally released! How absolutely beautiful!”

“ _ LET GO! _ ” the girl cried out, raising her good hand to push weakly against his chest. Some of her fire was reigniting, but Korekiyo only seemed more delighted in her overall response. She heard him inhale to speak, but then the sound of a door slamming open was heard across the room. 

Korekiyo looked up, his surprise causing his grip to loosen just enough for Himiko to slip free and run for it with a cry. Again, she ran into something, but this time it was hard and smooth, causing her to grunt in pain. A pair of stiff arms suddenly wrapped around her, and a familiar voice asked bluntly, “Korekiyo, what on  _ earth _ are you doing?!”

Himiko’s knees did give out then, releasing a sudden wail as she fell to the ground. The arms around her fumbled as Kiibo lowered to his knees with her, pulling the girl into his plated chest. Despite how cold and hard it was against her, and how one of his side plates was jabbing into her ribs, she didn’t care. Again, she cried out, curling up against the robot’s front tightly and continuing to cry.

Korekiyo’s hand still lingered in the air, though it fell to his side. For once, he seemed to be at a loss for words. Kiibo, however, wasn’t content with the silence. “I was passing through and heard Himiko scream. Korekiyo… you weren’t going to-”

“I wasn’t going to _ kill _ her, if that’s what you were about to ask,” the anthropologist interrupted, tone almost indignant. “We were discussing something.”

“Whatever it was, it didn’t look like she was enjoying it,” Kiibo replied grimly, a hand on Himiko’s trembling back. “I would appreciate it if you explained yourself.”

“I just wanted to talk to her,” he replied as his arms folded over his chest. “She jumped to conclusions and I had no other way to ensure that she would listen.”

“He’s crazy,” Himiko hiccuped into Kiibo’s chest, hands balling into fists. “He k-killed Tenko, he thinks it’s a good thing, I th-thought he was going to kill… m-me, too…”

If looks could kill, Kiibo’s would have shot daggers into Korekiyo’s chest. Himiko continued wearily, “I c-can’t die; I have to live… I have to live for Tenko…”

Aside from Himiko’s quiet sobs, the room fell silent for the time being. Finally, Kiibo released a short sigh and looked back to Korekiyo. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I formally request that you stay away from Himiko. You’re scaring her, and…” He hesitated, unsure of how to find words.

Korekiyo, for whatever reason, seemed at a loss. Even though he stiffly stood against the farmost door, looking as still and reserved as always, there was something subtle in his expression. His confident expression he tended to wear had faltered, and his gaze kept flitting subtly here and there, as if his mind was preoccupied.

“I can see that I’m not wanted here.” Unfolding his arms, he stepped forward to take his mug off of the table despite his tea having gone lukewarm at that point. “Apologies for scaring you, Himiko. I assure both of you that I won’t be doing it again.”

Kiibo was at a loss of what to say, but it didn’t seem to matter, for Korekiyo opened the door leading to the courtyard. Without a second glance, he exited, leaving the two alone in relative silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn't gonna post this tonight but my friend's reactions to this have been so delightful and i couldn't hold back. anyway kiyo said go stupid ahhhh go crazy ahhhh


	10. Companionship

A full day had passed since his initial interaction with Tsumugi. For the sake of his own health, Rantaro had spent the remainder of that day resting. Shuichi had brought him dinner because he had initially slept through it. Maybe his talent was the ultimate napper.

After a late breakfast and some brief meditation in the courtyard (the odd things his sisters had taught him to do throughout the years came in handy, as it turned out) the following morning, he decided to go on a walk. There were some areas he hadn’t seen yet that had cropped up in his absence, after all, and now that he was feeling a bit more alive, fittingly enough, he felt up to exploring.

So far he had taken note of an indoor pool as well as a martial arts building, the latter at the far end of the courtyard. Rantaro’s heart had grown heavy at the sight, for he was almost positive that it had to have been Tenko’s ultimate lab. His hand had brushed over the statue standing before the building’s dirt pathway as he gave a silent prayer to no one in particular that she would be safe, wherever she may be.

One area that intrigued him was a separated area surrounded by a wall. The doors had been open and led to an extra courtyard of sorts with two buildings. Though plain looking during the day, Rantaro could assume the two were brilliant at night. One was a casino covered in reflective gold, while the other was a hotel that bore a name a little too on the nose for his tastes.

Currently, Rantaro stood in the lobby of the casino, arms folded over his chest whilst he stared down at the monochromatic bear before him. He’d asked the one standing at reception - the pink one - where he could find him, and after a quick call for her father, here he stood.

The conversation wasn’t really going anywhere.

“Sorry bub!” Monokuma remarked, not sounding very sorry at all. “It isn’t against the rules to rifle through the trash though, so go for it if you want! Cause otherwise? You’re pretty much out of luck.”

Even though the past days had been draining, the thought of Rantaro’s monopad hadn’t left his mind. It was important, and he needed to recover it. If anyone knew about its whereabouts, it would be Monokuma.

“I had it with me the day I died,” Rantaro argued. “It wouldn’t still be with my corpse, would it?” He paused, considering the weight of his words. “Do… I even still have a corpse?”

“Dunno, don’t care,” the bear replied with a nonchalant wave of his paw. “They checked your pockets when your corpse was found. I bet Kaede had it in her backpack!”

Rantaro subtly gulped as his gaze briefly flickered to the side. His fingers tapped against the opposite arm. “... And Kaede…?”

“Dead!” Monokuma gleefully responded. “Crushed! Impaled! Strangled! If there was anything in her bag, it’s not intact now! Bet it’d make a good drink coaster, though.”

Rantaro fought the urge to shudder at the thought. No, his monopad had to still be around. A standard one had been placed in his room the night after the trial, but it wasn’t  _ his _ pad. Not the one he’d started the game with. Call it a gut feeling, but he was almost positive that it was intact and that Monokuma was just hiding it.

Or that someone had stolen it.

He couldn’t suppress his sigh of disappointment as a hand tucked into his pants pocket. “Well, thanks for the input. I figured if anyone knew where it was, it’d be you.”

“Too bad, so sad, but hey, you’ll get over it! That’s why I had my sweet little kubs give you a new one!” the bear chirped. “So, that it? Guessing I can go now?”

“Yeah, I guess,” replied Rantaro with a light shrug. “I just figured that, well… I mean, if  _ you _ of all people can’t recover it, then it must be a lost cause. I thought you were basically all powerful over the school.”

“Hey, I am!” Monokuma replied, indignant. “Just ‘cause I don’t know where your old pad is doesn’t make me any less of a good headmaster!”

“Not saying it does,” the man assured. “Just saying is all.”

Monokuma paused. His illuminated eye flickered a bit. Finally, he remarked, “Why don’t you just go ask one of your friends, huh? Maybe one of ‘em stole it and they know where it is!”

Rantaro gave a quiet chuckle alongside another shrug. Monokuma seemed to take that as enough of an indication to leave, for he turned on heel and walked off with a huff. The man was alone then, left with only his thoughts to accompany him. 

Monokuma, from what he could tell, appeared to be quite a stickler for rules. Alongside that, he didn’t like to lie. Rantaro observed that when the bear couldn’t lie, he would try to instead talk his way around the subject and place the blame elsewhere. In short, Monokuma didn’t have any idea where his original monopad was, and Rantaro had found himself back to square one all over again.

A breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding escaped him, shoulders hunching forward a bit with the exhale. Truth be told, he hadn’t planned this far ahead. Though he had told himself that it was entirely possible Monokuma didn’t know where his pad was, he had tried to stay optimistic. He supposed that had been a mistake.

His gaze flickered down to the stairwell near to where he stood, which lead down to the second floor housing all of the slot machines and games. Rantaro himself wasn’t much of a gambler; he had tried it, and he used to play penny poker with his sisters, but it wasn’t his cup of tea. If there were arcade games, however…

With a brief roll of his shoulders, he made his way down the stairs. The beeps of arcade cabinets and mechanical clinks of slot machines replaced the relative silence of the casino’s lobby the further in he got, the sound oddly nostalgic.

Lights reflected off of the walls and leather stools, no windows to be found. Rantaro’s hand tucked itself back into his pocket while he stepped forward towards the game side of the room, wondering why he was even bothering. Maybe it was nothing more than a temporary distraction, but really, what was the problem with that? A couple rounds of Pac-Man never killed anyone.

When he spotted a figure at one of the nearby slot machines, he at first thought he was seeing things. Rantaro had expected to be completely alone; after all, who would be coming to a casino in their current circumstances? 

Apparently, Korekiyo would.

“... Kiyo?” Rantaro greeted a bit hesitantly, leaning forward on his heels. Korekiyo hadn’t been playing, per se; if he had been, he had long since stopped. When Rantaro spoke his name, his posture immediately turned from slouched to straight, head held high as it turned to face him.

“Ah… hello, Rantaro,” he finally replied with a brief nod of his head in greeting, “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to come here at this hour.”

“You and I both,” the man replied with a lopsided, casual smile. His previous encounter with the anthropologist was still fresh in his mind, and Korekiyo’s immediate, almost defensive shift in presentation just then wasn’t helping his lingering worries any. “A place like this doesn’t seem like your style, no offense.”

“None taken, I assure you,” Korekiyo replied. His gaze flitted back to the machine that he sat before, which was in the process of making mechanical ringing noises and the occasional laugh from Monokuma. Even the slots had his face slapped on them, for heaven’s sake. The taller man continued, “I suppose I just needed a break from the dorms and school building for a bit.” His head turned back to Rantaro, asking, “And what about you? What brings you here?”

“More or less the same,” replied Rantaro. “I needed to ask Monokuma something, but he didn’t have any answers. Figured I’d play a few games while I was here.”

Korekiyo nodded in acknowledgement, one leg crossing over the other as he rested an elbow on his knee. “Truthfully, this isn’t exactly familiar territory to me. Despite casinos being metaphorical breeding grounds for all sorts of people to observe, I’ve never been to one. They’re too…” He hesitated before continuing, “well, too crowded. Ironic, isn’t it? An anthropologist who dislikes crowds.”

Sticking his hand in his pocket, Rantaro quietly chuckled. It came as a surprise to Korekiyo, who had not made any sort of joke. The man remarked, “Maybe that makes you even more human yourself, in a way. Fear’s one of the basic human emotions, right?”

“I wouldn’t call it fear,” Korekiyo replied more hastily than one would expect. “More so… discomfort.” His hands shifted to adjust the bandages around one, then two of his fingers. Rantaro could have sworn he saw him subtly flinch when tugging one to secure it. “This casino, however, is empty - save for us, of course. So I have no issue being here.”

The distant sound of a slot machine playing a demo jackpot slipped into the conversation, though neither man acknowledged it. After a tap of his foot, Rantaro tilted his head at the man with a lopsided smile, “You want to play some games? There are arcade machines down here.”

Korekiyo hesitated. “I’m… afraid I wouldn’t know how to play. I’ve never really played video games. But I wouldn’t mind observing you playing, if that’s a fair compromise.”

“Hey, works for me,” his companion shrugged. With a tilt of his head to signal that he was leaving, he turned and walked in the direction of the arcade cabinets. 

Something in the back of Rantaro’s head was questioning why he was socializing with Korekiyo when he had enough on his plate already. He had  _ just _ managed to calm down a little, and being around Korekiyo of all people, well…

He stopped before a Frogger machine and fished in his pocket for two casino coins, sliding them in the slot. No; he wouldn’t linger on that. Everyone here was going through their own struggles and their own problems; Korekiyo’s were just… different. Way different. There was nothing wrong with taking a few moments to relax.

Rantaro slid his hands over the buttons, nostalgia immediately moving over him at the familiar feel of a joystick against his fingers. He glanced over to where Korekiyo stood, having to crane his head just a bit to accomodate for the height difference, and smiled as he remarked, “My sisters and I used to go to arcades for their birthdays when we were kids; we’d play stuff like this all the time.”

“I see…” Korekiyo replied, a hand casually resting beneath his chin as he peered to the screen. “So what is the purpose of the game? Or rather, what is the goal?”

The game started, Rantaro’s hands positioning themselves over the buttons and getting to work. “Basically you have to get this frog across the street while avoiding traffic. Then you have to get the little guy across the river safely. Get five frogs across, and you win.”

The anthropologist gave a short hum in thought as Rantaro played, peering at it more intently than one would expect. “And what exactly do you get if you win?”

“Nothing, really,” he replied, which seemed to surprise Korekiyo. “I mean, you might get a high score, and in some places you’ll get tickets, but I never worry about that stuff.” His hand slightly tapped against the console with frustration when the frog he was piloting fell in the river. “It’s just for fun.”

There was a brief silence as Korekiyo pondered this, Rantaro managing to maneuver one across the street and river safely. “So people play games like this solely for the entertainment value of it? Like watching a film or reading a book?”

“There are some competitive gamers,” replied Rantaro, “but that’s never really been my style. Most just play for fun, yeah.”

Korekiyo seemed to understand then, nodding once in response. The game ended then, Rantaro not even making the bottom of the high score list. He scoffed, a hand resting on his hip as the machine deposited a few meager coins as his reward. “Figures they’d make the high scores this high. Either that, or I’m just rusty. Probably a mix of both.” He leaned down and took the coins from the little tray beneath the console, tossing them briefly in his hand before extending his palm to his companion. “You want to try?”

Brows raising in surprise, Korekiyo peered down at the tokens in Rantaro’s extended palm. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting this. Rantaro could see him already formulating some sort of response before he eventually caved and raised a hand to take two from Rantaro’s own. “I… suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

Stepping before the machine, Korekiyo inserted the two tokens and mirrored his companion’s stance from before, down to the way his fingers hovered over the joystick and buttons. He appeared surprised when Rantaro chuckled and remarked, “Relax. Just do what feels right. You shift the stick to make the frog move; the buttons don’t really do anything on this stage.”

Though it took him two frog’s worth of time to get accustomed enough to the controls, Korekiyo did decent enough for his first try. When he got a game over, Rantaro handed him the other two tokens without hesitation to let him keep playing. Eventually, only one frog was saved - his final one on his second game - but the satisfaction it brought him seemed to be worth the struggle.

As they walked away from the Frogger cabinet and scanned the rest, Korekiyo seemed a little more relaxed than he had been previously. Though he always appeared to be calm and collected, there seemed to be a difference between that presentation and the way he appeared currently. His shoulders seemed a little less tense, and the tone of his voice felt lighter than before. “How strange… we didn’t receive any sort of reward for it, and yet it was enjoyable nonetheless.”

“Aren’t books pretty similar?” asked Rantaro as he absentmindedly adjusted the bracelets on one wrist. “You don’t get anything in return for reading them, but you still have fun doing it, right?”

“I’ve always thought that the reward for reading was the knowledge you gained during the process of it,” Korekiyo replied. “The enjoyment is a pleasant bonus.”

“I mean…” Rantaro lightly shrugged, turning to meet Korekiyo’s eye as they walked. “I don’t think everything you do has to be productive - at least in my opinion. You can do things just… to do them. Is there anything you do just for the sake of doing it?”

It concerned Rantaro that Korekiyo seemed to be struggling to find an answer. He rested his chin in a hand, suddenly very deep in thought. Then, he finally replied, “I enjoy anthropology, though I’m not sure if that counts in your eyes, considering that it is my job… but it’s a passion I enjoy greatly.”

“But do you go into anthropology stuff with the intent of enjoying it, or that knowledge that it’s going to be productive?” 

“Ah…” Korekiyo’s brow creased slightly, pondering the question. “I… suppose a bit of both.”

Rantaro only nodded, not sure how to respond. Then, finally, he turned back to Korekiyo with a lopsided smile as he reached in his pocket to pull out more tokens. “...I think we should play some more games.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact! the last chapter? the one with himiko? that was actually going to be all the fic was. i had the urge to write a oneshot about kiyo confronting himiko and going stupid ahh going crazy ahh but then my mind started to wander and was like, "what if rantaro was the one who walked in?" then "what if rantaro came back?" then "what if i wrote a multichapter fic for the first time in almost ten years?" and here we are  
> so thats nifty


	11. Conflict

Long, shining black locks passed through the brush as it slid over the strands. The man's hair smelled of mint, his skin of pomegranate. His makeup, naturally, had been meticulously applied beforehand. All that was left was the final few runs of the brush through his hair.

"Ninety-eight, ninety-nine... and..." With a final stroke, the man at last lowered the brush onto the counter and smiled at his reflection, ruby red lips shimmering in the overhead light. "Perfect."

Korekiyo's accommodations had been less than favorable when he had initially been sentenced to live in the dorms, but after several trips to the warehouse, a bit of elbow grease, and a little intuition, he had settled in as best as one could. String lights decorated the walls up towards the ceiling all around the area, and several old books from his lab alongside some (unfortunately fake) plants made for decent enough decor within.

The bathroom had also been modified a bit to suit him, for it was his morning routine to spend no less than an hour and a half in there each day getting ready. His chin tilted upward a bit and to the left as he observed his features, a surprisingly unbandaged hand moving there to rest. Briefly, it startled him. The feeling of skin on skin never ceased to both intrigue and unnerve him, even if it was upon himself.

A calloused finger slid briefly over his cheek to smudge a bit of the foundation resting there. Korekiyo promptly spoke to the empty room, "What are your thoughts? Is the eyeliner too heavy, sister?"

Nobody replied - nobody physically present, anyway. Instead, he replied to himself in the form of a falsetto. "It's perfect, my darling Korekiyo. Not a lash out of place."

Warmth bloomed in the anthropologist's chest, which he placed a hand upon with a smile. "I do try to look my best for you." Taking hold of a comb that rested beside the brush upon the vanity, he moved it through his bangs, tucking them behind his ears and attempting to smooth them out. "Sister, I've been thinking... I did find some other shades of eyeshadow in the warehouse. Perhaps we could try a new look sometime."

His hands stalled only briefly when an involuntary sigh escaped his lips. Eyes darting to the side, he tensed, the muscles in his shoulders feeling tighter than before. "This again, dear?" Korekiyo asked in that same falsetto, unable to look at his own reflection. 

Hands lowering, his free one shifted upwards to take hold of his own cheek. The man tried his best not to lean into the touch, heart beating harder in his chest. The feminine tone continued on, "You're perfect, Korekiyo. Why change what is already flawless?"

Truthfully, he thought, he just wondered if red would help bring out his eyes a bit, or how black lipstick would look in place of red. But she was right, as she always was. It was best to just drop the topic.

"I'm sorry, sister," Korekiyo sighed a bit more shakily than he expected. "Perhaps the claustrophobic school environment is just getting to me..."

A soft chuckle escaped him as the hand lowered, the man taking a few moments to recenter himself before continuing his combing work. "What would you like to do today, sis-"

His hands fumbled slightly when a knock on the door was heard. As they lowered, he peered down at them with a sudden rush of anxiety, eyes scanning over every imperfection and mark and darting over each spot as if he were mentally connecting the dots.

“Korekiyo?” said a voice from the other side of the door. It was deep and masculine, and somehow made the man feel relieved as well as twice as fearful. “I brought you some breakfast again; Shuichi’s got some kind of allergy thing going on, so I offered to do it this morning.”

“J-just a moment!” called the man, tugging the sleeves of the robe he adorned as far down his hands as he could. His bandages were meticulous; if he did not wrap his arms and hands properly, they would be marred, and his entire look would be absolutely ruined. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his beloved with a rushed wrapping. The best he could do was hope that Rantaro didn’t stay long.

Standing up from his vanity, he took a deep breath, straightened his posture, ensured that his hands were tucked in the sleeves, and strode over to the door to open it. Surely she wouldn’t blame him for not being able to be presentable on time - now as long as Rantaro didn’t either, he would be in the clear. Korekiyo put on a smile, glad that his makeup and hair were at least alright, and greeted, “Good morning, Rantaro. Sorry that I’m not exactly decent.... Please, come in; feel free to put the tray on the coffee table.”

"It's alright," Rantaro assured him as he stepped inside. He placed the tray down and removed the glass and plate, adding, "Sorry I'm a little early; hope you like eggs benedict."

"Oh I do, yes," replied Korekiyo, hands tucking into the pockets of his robes - most unlike him, he noted to himself. He shouldn't be presenting himself to anyone in this condition; hell, he wasn't even clothed. "Surely you didn't go out of your way to make that from scratch yourself?"

Rantaro chuckled, straightening his posture and turning to his companion with a small smile. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't." He was already walking back to the door as he added, "I should get back; I promised Himiko that I'd teach her how to make pancakes."

 _Himiko._ Korekiyo felt a vague pang in his chest at the mention of her name - at the memory of how she looked when they last crossed paths. Praying that it didn't show on his face, he put on a smile, noting how bizarre it felt without a mask present to obscure his lips. "I won't keep you, then. Until another time, Rantaro; thank you for breakfast."

They waved at one another and said their goodbyes. As soon as the door closed, Korekiyo released a sigh and finally let his hand escape the sleeve of his robe as it fell down to his side. With a small shake of his head, he moved over to the coffee table and sat on his knees before the food. His morning routine wasn’t finished yet, but there was no sense in letting the food grow cold.

"You didn't want him to leave," he said in that falsetto from before, eyes widening with anxiety at the bluntness of "her" words. "Why is that?"

Korekiyo found that he didn’t have an answer, which didn’t help matters. If he didn’t respond, she would get defensive. He, however, continued to speak in the feminine tone as his eyes dipped down to his food. “You’re not even presentable, dear. You may as well have been caught naked. Why on earth would you want him to be around you in such a state?”

“I don’t know, sister,” he admitted as he busied himself with unfolding the napkin beside his plate. Placing it in his lap, he hastily added, “I think that I was just confused. It’s never happened to me before, after all.”

“You were thinking that you could get dressed and have breakfast with him, weren’t you?” Korekiyo stalled, fingers slightly trembling over his lap. “She” continued, “Korekiyo, you don’t want to be _friends_ with him, do you?”

Again, he hesitated. He wasn’t sure, truthfully; he considered everyone in the school friends, but mostly from an observational standpoint. To actually interact and bond with someone (aside from Sister) wasn’t something he was used to.

“My friends - the others here, I mean,” he carefully replied, “are… growing distant. Perhaps I just find myself a bit lonely-”

“Why would you ever find yourself lonely when you have me?” interrupted “sister” with a bite to “her” voice that made the man wince. “Is my company not enough for you anymore? Have I done something wrong?”

“Of course not,” stammered Korekiyo. “Dear sister, that isn’t it at all. The others just can’t understand that what I did for you was what was right. Rantaro being actively friendly towards me is-”

“Is _what,_ Korekiyo?” he snapped in the cold, feminine voice. “Please, elaborate for me.”

But Korekiyo couldn’t. His throat felt like sandpaper, hands fidgeting restlessly in his lap despite knowing that Sister hated it when he did that. No words fell on his tongue to reply to her with, gaze flicking around the room as he desperately searched for some sort of explanation.

“Fine,” said “Sister.” The single word made his heart leap into his throat, the breath leaving him as his hands feebly held themselves up in the air, as if to stop “her” somehow. He continued as her, “Do enjoy the breakfast that _he_ made for you, Korekiyo, because you’ll be doing it alone.”

“Sister,” Korekiyo croaked in his normal voice, fingers trembling in the air before him. “Please, don’t leave me; I just need a moment t-to gather m-myself…”

Silence. Tears budded in his eyes, and though he tried to blink them away so as not to smudge his makeup, they fell down his cheeks regardless. Even then, he was upsetting her. He had spent nearly an hour on his makeup, only to have it ruined because of his own foolishness and incapability to hold himself together.

His appetite was gone. Korekiyo’s arms snaked around his own torso in a feeble attempt to hug himself, eyes squinting shut. His breaths were quickening, throat feeling full and tongue feeling like lead in his mouth, unable to speak. Though he could not say it out loud, he heard something distant in the back of his mind - a thought so immersive that it was nearly audible.

 _Apologize_.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out. “I’m s-so sorry; please…”

Again, silence filled the room. He sniffed, resisting the urge to rub the tears from his eyes. Then “she” spoke again, “her” voice calm and causing a wave of warmth to move over him. “Oh, my poor Korekiyo…”

The hold on himself grew tighter, his lower lip trying its best not to tremble. Again, he repeated, “I’m sorry…”

“Her” voice was like a warm blanket draped over his shoulders as he crooned in that feminine, albeit shaking voice, “You’re so fragile; whatever would you do without me…?” His own trembling hand touched his cheek, fingers tapping against the skin. “This is why you shouldn't fret over him. He could never comfort you like I do…”

Korekiyo sniffed, trying his best to swallow down the urge to sob, and closed his eyes. The man’s shoulders ached, yet he paid no heed to them - nor the way his fingers were now subtly scratching at his jawline, or how his food had gone cold.

* * *

Libraries had always been a safe space of sorts for her. Even though the one in the academy held less than pleasant memories, the young witch found herself heading down the vibrant basement stairs in its direction regardless. There _had_ to be more in there than boring old textbooks to keep her preoccupied.

Himiko placed her hand against the library's frontmost door and pushed, flinching immediately at the sound of voices inside. She froze on instinct, hand still wrapped around the side of the door.

"I didn't ask for your help!" said a familiar, young voice. "Give me that!"

Hesitantly, the girl peered out from behind the door to get an actual view of what was going on. The library's interior was par for the course, but near the center shelf stood Rantaro halfway up the moving ladder, Ouma at its base.

Rantaro headed down the rest of the ladder and at last hit the ground as he replied casually, "You were jumping up and down like crazy. Couldn’t just leave you hanging. Here.” His hand extended, holding out a book with a colorful cover.

Ouma snatched it out of his hand with a huff, holding it under his arm and looking to the side. “You’re too nice for a game like this.”

“You’re welcome,” Rantaro replied with a light shrug, hand tucking into his pocket. Himiko visibly flinched when his gaze absentmindedly shifted over the room and found her lingering in the cracked open door. A brow raised upwards with curiosity. “Himiko?”

Both of them were looking at her now. The girl took in a breath, not moving any further in. “I didn’t know other people were in here…”

“I bet you’re here to set up something, aren’t you?” asked Ouma with a toothy, smug grin. “Why else would someone like you come to the basement all alone?”

“To read?” Rantaro answered in her stead. “You were down here alone, too.”

“I’m not stupid; if I wanted to kill someone, I’d plan something a lot less obvious!” the teen shot back. “ _Himiko_ , on the other hand-”

“Sorry,” muttered Himiko, hand moving to the doorknob again as she took a step back. “I’ll go somewhere else.”

Before either could say anything, she closed the door behind herself and took in a deep, somewhat shaking breath. The mage took all of two steps forward before she stopped, a hand moving up to shakily hold her face. Why was she about to get upset over not being able to go to the stupid library of all things-

The door opened, and Himiko took in a breath, suddenly unmoving. A jolt ran through her when a hand was placed on her shoulder, Rantaro’s voice speaking behind her. “Hey, it’s alright. I can shoo him out if you need some privacy or something.”

His touch appeared to be rattling her, so his hand retracted as Himiko stood there, as still as a statue save for her trembling that was growing more and more obvious. A silence moved over the two before Rantaro spoke up again. “... Himiko, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Reaching a hand up, she tugged her hat down to cover her face and watering eyes, taking a step forward. “I’ll just go to my room.”

Despite her legs feeling like lead, Himiko managed to make it to the stairs. A hand rested itself over the banister, and she had just raised her foot to begin the ascent to the first floor when Rantaro spoke up again, startling her. “What’s that?”

“Wh-what’s what?” She didn’t want to turn her head lest he see her face, so she decided standing still was her only option. “Is there something on my back?”

“No, no; your hand,” he replied, the girl stiffening as footsteps carefully headed towards her, though they stopped a reasonable distance away. “Your nail polish…”

Her hand retracted, taking hold of the opposite wrist and frowning to herself. “I j-just pick at it sometimes and I couldn’t find any more, okay? Stupid warehouse probably has it on a shelf in the back or something; I could summon it with magic, but…”

Rantaro hesitated, then offered, “I’ve got some in my dorm I could go get, if you want. Not sure if I have any colors you’d want, but-”

“Why are you being nice to me?” Himiko interrupted, turning her head ever so slightly towards him. She made sure that her hat still obscured her face as much as possible. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” replied Rantaro with a light shrug, which she hadn’t expected. “Plus you were probably just gonna go back to your dorm and sit on the bed for a couple hours if I didn’t stop you, right?”

Well, that had been the plan.

He continued, “Listen; if you want, I’ll meet you in the courtyard. I’ll grab my nail stuff and we’ll see what we can do. It’s better than spacing out, yeah?”

Finally, Himiko turned fully to face him - well, as much as she could, anyway. From her current view, all she could see were his shoes. Her hands found the brim of her hat and tugged it further down her face, muttering in response, “... I guess.”

“Sounds good; I’ll meet you there in about ten minutes,” said Rantaro. Himiko was still as rigid as a stone. “Or do you need more time?” 

“It’s fine,” she replied, taking in a quiet breath before continuing, “I can just use my magic to teleport there if I’m late. But you better be careful and not sit on the right side of the bench, ‘cause that’s where I’ll probably end up. I don’t wanna get stuck in your arm or something.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he replied with a chuckle - but it was a warm sound rather than a teasing one. Rantaro walked past her then, ascending the stairs and heading down the hallway until she could no longer hear his footsteps. 

Tentative, Himiko finally looked up from her hat and blinked hard, as if making sure that what had happened hadn’t just been a dream. Rantaro didn’t seem like he was being sinister or had any sort of intentions… but why did he care? She couldn’t process why he would go out of his way to do something like that. Maybe his ultimate talent was being nice or something.

The witch jolted when the library door opened, Ouma stepping out with the book from before tucked under his arm. Brows raising at the sight of her, they quickly lowered again as he flashed her a smirk that was anything but friendly. “And what are you doing here? Waiting to kill me?”

“Stop saying stuff like that!” Himiko shot back, indignant. Her sudden tone had startled both of them, for Ouma had visibly jolted at the sound. “I’m not gonna kill anyone, so stop saying that…” 

“Why should I?” the teenager scoffed. “This is a killing game. The second you let your guard down is the second you get killed. It’s stupid to think otherwise. But you don’t really think at all, so I wouldn’t expect you to push your brain to the breaking point by trying.”

She felt her grip tighten around her hat, fingers subtly clenching, unclenching, and rubbing against the coarse fabric (which had become such due to doing so regularly). “What do you want, huh? I’m just standing here!”

“Haven’t I made it obvious?” he replied, deadpan. “I want to see what happens - how things unfold. And right now? You’re real suspicious. Of course I’m gonna keep an eye on you.”

Himiko swallowed hard against the lump trying to grow in her throat. Her tongue felt like sandpaper, vision blurring as her gaze dipped down. “T-two of my friends died, and you e-expect me to-”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap,” groaned Ouma. “You didn’t give a fuck about Tenko when she was alive! So stop this sadsack shtick and do something useful. Maybe if you actually _did_ kill someone, things would get interesting for once. Or do I have to do everything myself around-”

“ _Shut up!_ ” 

Himiko turned on heel and ran up the stairs, not bothering to notice if Ouma had said anything else. The witch didn’t stop until she reached the end of the hallway, stopping to put her hands on her knees and take in deep, strained breaths. Even if she hadn’t ran all that far, she was exhausted - in every way thinkable. 

Her knees buckled, and briefly, she considered moving to the corner, sitting down, and staying there for an indeterminate amount of time. However, she forced herself to move forward. Someone was waiting for her, and she wouldn’t leave them to worry. She wouldn’t let anyone else worry about her anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, i'm not really on hiatus anymore, but... don't expect fast updates. it's been a month and a half and i've managed uh. well, a chapter and a half. i adore this fic and i love working on it, but the muse is slow with coming back. chapter 11's been sitting in my doc file for ages and i wanted to post it already  
> i'm picking at the fic when i can. with everything going on in the world i don't have much motivation but y'alls support and patience means the world <3


	12. Revulsion

"Like… this?"

"That choice _does_ have a high probability of success, so I think that would be fine. Just be careful."

Shuichi returned from the adjoining kitchen with a small smile, making sure not to spill any of the drinks in his hands. Kiibo and Gonta sat at the dining room table with a wooden tower between them, the two studying it intently. The former glanced up with a grin and remarked, "It's your turn now, Shuichi; good timing."

"Gonta doing better than thought he would," said Gonta, looking down at the small wooden rectangle in his palm, which was only making it look even tinier in comparison. "Only take three tries."

Shuichi carefully placed their drinks down and took his seat beside Kiibo before replying, "They do say things come in threes. At least, I think that's a saying."

"No worries; it is," Kiibo chimed in. Two pairs of eyes watched as Shuichi's hand extended outward at the Jenga tower, briefly observing it before taking a piece of wood at random and pulling it out. To everyone's relief, it didn't topple.

"Shuichi good at this," praised Gonta, a hand moving to his chin as he observed the tower thoughtfully. The detective tried not to laugh when Gonta's lips pursed and his eyes squinted to assist with his concentration. The man's hand had just reached forward and taken hold of a block when the door to the dining hall swung open, causing his concentration to fumble and his hand to slip. 

Down went the tower, little wooden rectangles scattered all over the table before them. Kiibo clasped his hands together with a smile. "I have the most, so I win that round. Please give me a moment to put the blocks back up."

As Kiibo busied himself with doing so and Gonta sat with embarrassment, Shuichi found himself to be the only one to turn and look at who had entered. His brows only slightly raised at the sight of Korekiyo. With a smile that he prayed didn't look hesitant - which it absolutely did - he greeted, "Afternoon, Kiyo."

"Good day to you as well, Shuichi - and Kiibo and Gonta," the tall man greeted with a brief dip of his head. "Please don't let me interrupt; I'm just here to fix some tea for myself."

"Kiyo want to play with us?" asked Gonta much to Kiibo's visible hesitance, but Korekiyo only shook his head and politely declined before heading to the kitchen. The door swung to a close behind him, leaving him with nothing but the sound of his own breathing and the absent ambient noise of the ice machine churning in the freezer.

“Would you like a snack while we’re here, sister?” he asked aloud, striding over to the stove to heat up water for his tea. “It _will_ take a bit for the water to boil.”

"I doubt that anything in this godforsaken school is worth making at this point," "she" replied with a sigh. Korekiyo stalled with his hands in a cabinet high above that he couldn't see into (which was a feat, considering his own height), though his movements continued before "she" could notice. His wrapped fingers finally found an object that vaguely felt like a box of tea, and so he pulled it out to peer at its contents.

Settling for mint, he took out one bag and placed the box back before responding with a small, somewhat amused smile, "Maybe we should just get some cookies and call it an afternoon for now." Placing the bags in the kettle, he added, "Those little butter ones you used to love."

There was an affectionate tone to "her" voice that made his heart skip a beat as she replied, "You know me too well, dear. A nap could be in order as well; I'm tired-"

Korekiyo nearly jolted out of his skin when the kitchen door swung open. Hand bracing the counter, he turned to find Kiibo in the doorway, staring at the anthropologist with confusion.

He hesitated. Neither of them blinked. After a tense few seconds, the stiffness in Kiibo's shoulders seemed to loosen a bit, as if he had, quite literally, physically locked up as soon as he had stepped into the kitchen. "Sorry to startle you; I thought I heard a feminine voice. I wasn't sure if it was Himiko, or…"

Whereas Kiibo was relaxed then, Korekiyo was struggling to maintain his composure. His grip on the counter loosened as best it could. "Apologies," he replied at last, keeping his posture straight. "I was singing to myself."

Kiibo's brow slightly knit. Obviously, he hadn't bought the lie. Even so, he couldn't seem to come up with any argument, and so he responded, "Alright. My hearing is a bit more advanced than humans, so… I was confused is all."

If his hearing was so good, thought Korekiyo, why would he not be able to tell whether or not Himiko stepped into the dining hall? And for that matter, wouldn’t he be able to discern that the voice was not, in fact, Himiko’s?

The anthropologist’s head listed ever so slightly, observing Kiibo from across the room with his bandaged hands still resting behind him on the counter. He still hadn’t left. The only change in his stance was that of his fingers absentmindedly fidgeting at his sides. How curious, thought Korekiyo - even robots have their tells. How very human.

“Is there something you need to discuss with me?” Korekiyo finally asked, breaking the silence. His tone was level, though it was taking some effort to lessen the tension in his shoulders. 

Kiibo hesitated - but only for a few seconds. Then his synthetic lips pressed into a flat line, trying their best to not turn downward, and he responded honestly, “... I don’t know.”

The response had been both expected as well as unexpected. Korekiyo’s brow quirked at the robot’s words. It was hard to gauge him; Kiibo simultaneously appeared worked up as well as distant - as if he didn’t know whether to scream or drop the subject and leave.

It was making him nervous.

“Kiibo,” Korekiyo hesitantly spoke up, and their eyes met. He continued, “If this is about the trial…”

Now he could see the robot's emotion visibly shift. The hesitation on Kiibo’s face was replaced with determination and his arms grew stiff at his sides. It was enough of an answer for the man, but it seemed like that wouldn’t be the end of it.

“I just… I can’t understand, Kiyo- Korekiyo.” Kiibo closed his eyes briefly to gather his thoughts, then opened them and continued, “I can't process why someone would kill another human being. I… haven’t been able to since this all began. To take the life of another for survival is… horrifying. Kaede thought that she would be killing the mastermind, and Kirumi…” His words trailed off.

“She was frightened,” interjected Korekiyo, much to Kiibo’s visible frustration. It was a look he didn’t believe that he had ever seen on the robot’s face. He took it as a sign to not continue.

Kiibo, on the other hand, did. “Yes… she was frightened. Her memories were returned to her and she was cornered; she thought she had to do it for survival. Both scenarios are still horrible, and some would say unforgivable, but the fact of the matter is that there were explanations for both of their actions. But you, Korekiyo…”

Korekiyo knew about humans; his job was to observe the intricacies of humanity and the actions of his peers. But Kiibo was a robot - a very humanlike one, but a robot nonetheless. It left him with a sense of unease that he couldn’t shake, alongside a feeling of failure for not being able to keep on his toes.

Needless to say, when the two met eyes again, he felt his stomach churn.

“You say you killed for love during the trial,” Kiibo said bluntly. “I want an explanation.” 

* * *

If one ignored the gigantic cage surrounding the area, the Ultimate Academy could be seen as somewhat peaceful when outside. The grass was always green, the trees were flourishing, and somehow there were next to no bugs skittering around. Nobody knew where on earth the mastermind was getting funding and manpower for it all, but it wasn’t as if Monokuma would ever give them any answers.

Rantaro and Himiko sat beneath the courtyard pavilion, one of Himiko’s small hands spread upon the surface of the bench the two sat on. The other was in Rantaro’s own hand, his opposite holding a nail polish brush coated in red paint. The magician had been undecided in what color she wanted, but when a ladybug flew upon Rantaro’s makeup bag, the decision was near instant.

“And then the crowd went nuts, cause then birds were flying everywhere,” Himiko was saying, looking down at her nails being meticulously decorated. The opposite hand had already been painted the same color along with little black spots atop it. “I think maybe they pooped on a couple of people, too.”

Rantaro chuckled warmly at that, pausing to dip the brush back into its respective bottle for more paint before moving it back over. “You didn’t get in trouble or anything, right?”

“Nah,” she replied, a leg absentmindedly swinging off of the edge of the bench. “He thought it was funny. It was only my second show, anyway.” Her lips stuck out in a mild pout as she continued, “I just wish the audience would have taken me more seriously. Or if they would in general…”

“Hey, even if you don’t have much of an audience here, I’d be happy to see some of your magic someday,” Rantaro offered as he moved onto the last nail. “You’ve got all that stuff in your lab, right?”

“Yeah… but I don’t know if I’d wanna put on a show,” she said as her shoulders hunched forward a bit, lips curling downward into a small frown. “Cause…” She shook her head, attempting to rid herself of the memory. “We can just do it in the lab. To make sure everyone who might come is safe.”

His hand stalled ever so slightly, but not enough to draw suspicion. As he lowered her hand in order to screw the cap back onto the red polish, he took hold of the black and tried to keep his expression neutral. Right. The last time that Himiko had tried to hold a magic show…

A small, vague pang was felt in his chest; it was guilt. He had not been there. Not that anyone had assumed he should be; he was dead at the time, but…

Rantaro busied himself with applying little dots of black paint over Himiko's nails. "Yeah, no problem. Just let me know when you want to do it; it's not like any of us are lacking in spare time right now."

Silence was his reply, and when his eyes briefly darted up, he found that the girl's brows were knit. Confusion crossed his own face, but his focus swiftly shifted back to the task at hand.

"Do you think there's gonna be another killing?"

The man's hand stalled. Lips pursing into a small frown, he attempted to stay focused as he replied, "... I don't know. Hopefully not. I can't see anyone here doing anything like that."

The bottle was placed down and screwed closed, Himiko bringing her hands up to observe her nails. While her expression was blank, there was a sadness to her voice that felt much deeper than surface level as she quietly replied, "Kiyo did."

Rantaro's hands were moving on their own on instinct, which he was grateful for. As he tucked the bottles into his makeup bag, he frantically pondered a response. He couldn't tell her that Korekiyo wouldn't kill again; while it wasn't a lie, it wasn't proven truth, either. What was he supposed to say?

"Guess I'll have to be your bodyguard, then," he finally joked, zipping up the bag and setting it in his lap. "I know you've got magic, but what would a little extra muscle hurt?"

Himiko looked away from her nails to observe Rantaro with a knit, thoughtful brow. "... If I want muscle, I'll get Gonta. He could probably beat up anyone, and your arms are kinda small."

The man glanced briefly at his own arms as she continued. "But… you could still be something like a spy. Or my personal assistant."

Rantaro held a hand to his chin in thought. "A spy _does_ sound pretty interesting… I'd be alright with that. What sort of spying would I be doing?"

The girl's lips pursed in thought. "I don't really know. I feel like stuff you'd need to do wouldn't come until later. But maybe you should get some spy training, just in case."

"Nowhere to do that here, unfortunately," he replied. "But maybe I can make my own work. I could go sneak into the kitchen and try to find us some snacks. That's as good a start as anything, yeah?"

Himiko pushed away from the bench and got to her feet, stretching her arms upward as she replied, "I better come with you. Just to make sure you don't cheat or something."

As Rantaro rose as well and tucked his bag under his arm, he cracked a smile and asked jokingly, "Cheat? Is there gonna be a test?"

"There might be. I can't tell you yet," Himiko responded. She was ready walking back towards the school, her companion beside her. "Cause I have to take you by surprise."

"Why's that?" he asked.

"I dunno."

The front doors to the school were pushed open, though Rantaro froze with one hand upon them. There was a sound from further inside the building - people talking, to be exact. Loudly.

"Guess people are in the kitchen," Himiko mused aloud. Rantaro carefully closed the door behind them as she continued, "You're really gonna have to work on your stealth skills to get around that. I'd turn us invisible, but that would be cheating."

He fought back the subtle nauseous feeling in his stomach and flashed a grin. "You know, I think it would be easier to sneak into the kitchen alone. What say I go test my skills and you guard the entrance?"

Himiko squinted up at him, looking rather meticulous and thoughtful. But then her expression defaulted back to its tired, blank norm, and she gave a small shrug. "Works for me. I'll guard your bag, too; the polish bottles would click-clack too much and be a dead giveaway."

"You're thinking like a spy even more than I am," joked Rantaro as he handed the small black bag over. "I think there are booths somewhere around the hall leading to the gym; I'll meet you there."

"Kay," the witch replied with a small, affirmative nod. She turned to walk away, speaking as she did so, "Don't get caught, or I might fire you."

"If I got fired on the first day of the job, I'd never forgive myself!" he called after her with a chuckle. Eventually, Himiko had turned the corner and was out of sight.

His pace was a little faster than normal as he walked down the opposite hall. Something felt wrong, but he couldn't place it. The voices were loud, and there were many - there had to have been three at the very least. His best guess was that there was a heated argument going down.

Hopefully it was just Kaito and Ouma bickering, he thought, but as he grew closer and the voices grew crisper, he knew that it wasn't the case. Rantaro's hand braced against the dining hall door as he pulled in a sharp breath and waited.

"No fight, please!" Gonta's voice called out. "No reason to fight. Just misunderstanding."

"You weren't there, Gonta," replied Kiibo, of all people. There was an edge to his voice that Rantaro had never heard before. "But… you _were_ there during Angie and Tenko's murders. You saw how much it hurt everyone - how much Tenko's hurt Himiko."

There was a pause. Rantaro's fingers curled against the wooden surface of the door. Kiibo continued. "I just want answers, Korekiyo. I don't understand why you won't give any!"

"My business is mine alone!" came Korekiyo's voice. A frown found its way onto Rantaro's lips. "I've already explained myself. I did it for love and that is all! I felt no ill will to Tenko - I don't to anyone here!"

"What kind of love is worth killing another human being over?" demanded Kiibo, exasperated. "What sort of horrible relationship accumulates in murder as a show of affection? I can't process that!"

"I have to!" Korekiyo exclaimed. His voice was trembling, growing quieter with every sentence. "My sister; she… she needs friends. I wish…" 

Then his voice grew, as if a switch had been turned on. "I wish to send her friends! So she can never be lonely again! None of the girls left are worthy of her friendship; I had to get out to-"

"Kiyo, stop it!" came Shuichi's voice, sounding twice as tired as Kiibo's. "Just… please; I don't understand…"

"Of course you wouldn't," Korekiyo replied, a quaver to his voice that he couldn't mask. "Nobody ever does. Even you, my dearest of friends, cannot comprehend that what I am doing is best for-"

He couldn't take it anymore. Rantaro pushed open the dining hall door and stepped inside, attempting to keep his posture straight. Shuichi and Gonta sat at the table while Kiibo stood on the sight side of the room. Korekiyo stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his bandaged hands in midair and a wild look in his eye that sent a chill down Rantaro's spine.

But then the fire in his eyes faded, replaced with a tightly knit brow and his hands moving over his chest. They slid around his shoulder and side, as if he held himself for comfort in the newfound situation.

Rantaro had seen frightened rabbits with more courage than what Korekiyo exhibited before him. Everyone seemed too hesitant to speak or even so much as move, but Korekiyo found himself taking a step back and leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. His breaths were shaking, every ounce of confidence he had before gone.

This wasn't right. He was flipping back and forth between timid and confrontational so rapidly. Something was wrong, thought Rantaro, but what-

The anthropologist mumbled something under his breath and held himself tighter. Head lulling to the side and bumping against the frame, he released a shaking breath and spoke again. This time, it was a bit more clear.

"Of c-course," murmured Korekiyo, fingers trembling with fervor against himself. "I'm sorry… confrontation was never-"

His head moved back upward, promptly interrupting himself as he stared, glass-eyed, at the floor. "Don't worry, dearest," he said in and slightly higher voice. "You just relax…"

"Korekiyo?" Shuichi spoke up, carefully rising from his seat so as not to startle the man. "Are you alright?"

"He's fine," Korekiyo replied in that same falsetto, posture straightening and one arm dropping to his side. The other raised, a finger tucking into the top of his mask and tugging it down. Rantaro had seen the lipstick before and had thought nothing of it. But now, it held a weight that he couldn't identify. 

He tried his best not to flinch when Korekiyo's eyes locked with his, full of loathing. The gaze cut deeply and left him unable to do anything but frown.

"I," Korekiyo finally said, head held high and eyes narrowed as they shifted back over to the other three, "am Korekiyo's older sister."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY SO i haven't written anything beyond this yet bc i picked up an old project i abandoned at the beginning of the year so yeah. still gonna be slow updates. this one was just Special. thank u guys for your support ilu sm


	13. Assurance

"Hey!!"

A loud  _ clang! _ was heard, followed by the sound of a feminine voice yelling out an expletive. Tsumugi watched with mild annoyance as the mechanic in the vast, cluttered room pushed herself out from under... whatever it was she was working on.

"What is it??" asked the woman with a groan as she held her head with one hand, a complicated looking wrench in the other. "Unless you're telling me to take a break, I'm kind of busy..."

"Somethings happening in the cafeteria and I thought you might want to come see is all," shrugged Tsumugi. She folded her hands behind her back and tapped her foot against the cool concrete floor, adding, "It’s interesting enough to stop working for a bit."

The mechanic immediately shoved away from the machine she had been working on, standing up from her wheeled stool with one, two, three wince-inducing cracks as she stretched her arms upward. "I won't complain... So what's going on?"

"Well, we don't know for sure because  _ someone _ didn't think that microphones were necessary," replied Tsumugi with a little roll of her eyes. "But something's going on with Korekiyo."

"When  _ isn't _ something going on with him?" replied her companion as she rubbed at the bags under her eyes. It only resulted in smearing her cheeks with more grease. "What's so special about- You know what? Nevermind. I'm just happy to have time off."

Tsumugi took that as a decent enough response, eagerly turning on her heel and heading back down the hallway leading to the main area of her little hideout. 

Her footsteps echoed in the vastness of the hall, the fluorescent lights along the ceiling causing the plated walls to shimmer. Originally, it had just been one corridor - it led from her control room to the first floor girl's bathroom. However, as their plans escalated and her needs expanded, she had the exisals build more rooms and pathways. Tsumugi had given herself the honor of creating little signs for the hideout so nobody would get lost.

Emerging into the control room, she took in a breath of fresh (as fresh as it could be underground) air and stepped up to the monitors they had all grown familiar with. Her hands braced against the desk much to the chagrin of her programmer, tilting her head at the screen. 

"Kiibo is yelling more than he usually does," said the robotic voice on the other side of the desk, accompanied with its owner signing along. Their gloves emitted the monotonous tone as they continued, "Which is to say, almost never." 

"Wait a minute," Tsumugi interrupted as she leaned in closer towards one of the screens. The footage reflected in her glasses, eyes as wide as saucers. "When did Rantaro get there?"

"Since you went to get E-"

"I thought he was with Himiko," the woman interrupted. "Oh, I can worry about it later; what are they doing, anyway?"

"They just told you," deadpanned the masked man sitting in the only chair. "Kiyo's going nuts. He took his mask off and now he's just yelling at people."

The group watched with intent at the monitor closest to the anthropologist. While he had been speaking very brashly (they assumed), he suddenly turned on a dime, timid with his shoulders hunched as he held himself and bumped against the wall. Just as quickly, however, that shaky smile would grow on his face yet again, confidence radiating from his visage.

"I r-really hope he's okay," said a timid voice next to the gloved person. "He may be having some sort of attack; I wish I could help-"

"Why don't we just send Tsumugi down there?" shrugged the woman from before, leg creaking as she shifted her balance. "No reason not to."

Tsumugi seemed to have not heard any of them, her gaze intent on the screen. She held a finger to her lips in thought, brows knit. After a few seconds of silence, she promptly straightened up and turned to walk away.

"I'm going to go see what's going on," she declared, pushing the button to open the walkway leading to the bathroom. "I'll report back in, hmm... whenever it's over, I guess. See ya!"

"But I just-" 

The door slid shut, leaving the four alone. With a flick of his index finger, the masked man was no longer masked, letting the accessory fall onto the ground without worry. He took in a breath and sighed, taking a pair of glasses out of his pocket and putting them on. "This isn't going to end well."

"She is already risking this by being around Rantaro so much," the monotone one signed, their gloves glowing softly as they "talked." "... I guess it's not our problem right now."

* * *

Rantaro's heart was aching for his friend. It was a wonder he could still stand upright with how rattled he was, one hand braced against the wall. Korekiyo was flipping between timid and cocky at a rapid pace, maintaining an entire conversation with himself and this… other persona he had created. 

His sister was dead; that had been made clear enough. While the others looked at the anthropologist with hesitation and mild fear, Rantaro's gaze held only concern. Not that anyone was going to notice.

"Korekiyo, snap out of it!" Kiibo suddenly spoke up, extending a hand and taking a step forward. "I think you're having some sort of attack-"

"You'll stay away from him, you metal oaf!" Korekiyo interrupted in that falsetto that invaded nearly every other sentence. "He's struggling right now - he can't even talk! And whose fault is that? Yours - all of you!"

His gaze met Rantaro's own, and yet again was met with a sneer. Rantaro wasn't swayed. Maybe he was jaded, or just tired. No, exhausted was the better word. 

"Korekiyo," he said, tongue feeling like sandpaper in his mouth, " _ please _ try to ground yourself; this character of your dead sister isn't-"

"I'm not some character or work of fiction!" Korekiyo interrupted, indignant as a bandaged hand moved to his chest. "I  _ was _ dead, yes, but my dearest Korekiyo revived me… And I do my best to protect him from people like  _ you _ !"

His gaze was right on Rantaro, full of malice. What did he do to warrant this? And more importantly, what exactly was going on? Was this some sort of split personality situation?

“This is why he has to leave this wretched school!” he continued, voice shrill. “All you lowlifes do is upset him at every turn; don't you understand how  _ sick _ you could make him? How sick you  _ have _ made him?!”

Shuichi hesitantly raised his hands up to convey that he meant no harm. “I don't know exactly what happened to bring...  _ this _ on, and I can't pretend that I understand. But, if you want to talk about it, we're here for-”

“Don’t make me  _ laugh! _ ” interrupted Korekiyo in a shrill voice. His golden eyes were wide and wild, the hand holding his cheek digging its covered fingers into the skin. “You never cared about him - none of you have! And even the ones that do have no business being near him. I’m the only one who can help him, who can comfort him, who can  _ be _ there for him, unlike  _ you!” _

The pieces were falling together like a puzzle that had been lost to time. Maybe not all of them, of course, but enough to form an image just visible enough to get the jist of. Rantaro’s hands balled into fists at his sides to quell their fervent shaking as his eyes closed.

This wasn’t a separate personality; he could assume that much with how Korekiyo was acting. This was a defense mechanism - a persona created by what Rantaro could only guess was some sort of trauma. Little fluctuations in his expression, the hesitation in his eyes, the aggressive defensiveness to anything they said or did - they were all there, and only Rantaro seemed to pick up on them.

Korekiyo was still talking - spouting accusations and pointing an accusatory finger in Kiibo’s direction, which caused the robot to flinch. Rantaro, however, found himself unable to focus on the anthropologist’s words. Instead, his feet were moving forward of their own accord.

Eventually, Korekiyo noticed. Initially, he flinched, a sort of panic to his eyes, but he quickly brought up the defensive projection of his sister once more to yell at him. Rantaro didn’t falter for more than a second or so, and kept moving forward regardless.

When he was close enough, Korekiyo flinched. The air felt as if everyone was holding in a collective breath. That metaphorical breath only hitched when his arms moved up and forwards, abruptly taking hold of Korekiyo’s shoulders.

Before anyone could say anything, Rantaro closed the space between them and held Korekiyo tightly, face in his shoulder. Predictably, the taller man panicked, immediately trying to squirm away. But even as he released a screech into Rantaro’s ear, the man didn’t so much as budge.

“Korekiyo,” he said bluntly as soon as the scream faded. It was enough to catch Korekiyo off guard, which was exactly what he wanted. The struggle stopped for a few short seconds - but it was enough time for him to say what he wanted. 

His hug tightened, but not in any way other than protective. “You’re hurting… and I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to amplify that hurt. But it’s okay to let other people help you, Kiyo…”

Gonta inhaled hesitantly from where he sat at the table still, but Shuichi only held up a hand in his direction to indicate that now wasn’t the best time. Korekiyo was as still as stone, hands hovering loosely in the air in the shape of claws. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and only then did Shuichi notice the multitude of sweat drops upon his face or the paleness of his complexion. 

When Korekiyo finally spoke, his voice was gravelly, as if forcing himself to talk at all was an ordeal in and of itself. “Rantaro, p-please; she’ll be upset w-with-”

“Kiyo,” Rantaro interrupted as the same tone as before. “I don’t know what your sister did to you, and I know I probably can’t fix it. But you have people who want you to be alright - if anything, you have me for god’s sake.” 

With a small huff, he moved away and placed his hands firmly on Korekiyo’s shoulders again. His heart ached at the sight of tears budding in the anthropologist’s eyes, one trickling down his cheek. The man looked like a deer in the headlights, perpetually on the fence between fight or flight. 

Rantaro continued. “I don’t have the answers, and I still don’t know what happened to you, but we’re in this together, Kiyo. All of us. We’re all stuck in this awful school, forced to do awful things, and you’re no different. So please, just…”

They all watched as Rantaro released a weary sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath. His hands lowered back down to his sides, waiting for Korekiyo to move away, but the man stayed perfectly still. At last, the shorter man finished speaking. “Just… know that we’re here for you. We’re all scared, but we need to work together or else we’ll never get out of here.”

Korekiyo’s hands were still frozen in midair, his bandaged fingers trembling. His eyes darted all over Rantaro’s face, as if analyzing him for any doubts, any cracks in his expression - absolutely any indication that he was lying. But he wasn’t.

It was that realization that made more tears fall down Korekiyo’s cheeks. The man flinched subtly, startling everyone else in the room, but then one of his hands moved to his head to hold it shakily. His hat briefly went askew, and Korekiyo frantically adjusted it as an apology was murmured under his breath.

… Korekiyo was strange. That had been established since he had introduced himself to everyone at the start of this horrid “game” of Monokuma’s. But those habits and mannerisms - and the willingful act of murder - had to come from somewhere, something, or some _ one. _

Rantaro wasn’t a therapist. But he didn’t need to be one to extend a kind word or helping hand when he could. It only broke his heart that it took him so long to realize that he should - and that he was the only one who thought to. 

The five jumped when the door to the dining hall opened from outside. Tsumugi stepped in, stalling with her hand on the doorframe. Her gaze moved over each person, one by one, finally stopping at where Korekiyo and Rantaro stood. 

Rantaro saw something shift in her expression for only a second - something unreadable that he couldn’t gauge. However, it lasted for no more than a split second, the woman releasing a gasp and closing the door behind her before stepping over hesitantly. “Korekiyo, are you alright…?”

The anthropologist couldn’t muster a response at first. His hand moved to his cheek, as if just then realizing that he was crying, and promptly pulled his mask back up over his mouth and nose. Rantaro watched with a knit brow as his friend’s posture straightened, his head turned to Tsumugi, and his hands, suddenly not trembling, fell to his sides. One could tell he was desperately trying to mask the wateriness to his voice as he replied as casually as he could muster, “Yes, I’m fine. We just had a bit of a scare is all; no need to worry.”

“Oh…” Tsumugi rested her cheek in a hand, tilting her head at him with concern. “If you’re sure… Oh! I know; I can make you a drink if you’d like. You like coffee, don’t you?”

He blinked. “Tea.”

“Right! I can make you some. Rantaro, could you come help me?” she asked, turning to the man in question with a friendly smile. Being addressed caught him off guard, for certain. 

He cast a glance to the two men sitting at the table still, Kiibo standing at the head of it. Shuichi met his eye and gave him a small nod, as if to say that it would be okay.

“... Yeah, of course. Kiyo, you can sit down and we’ll have it out in no time at all.” Rantaro gave the anthropologist a small, albeit somewhat tired smile, trying to reassure him. Korekiyo, after a few beats of silence, moved away from the entryway to the kitchen and over to the table, fingers twitching at his sides.

Tsumugi gestured for Rantaro to join her, and after a fleeting glance, he did so. He was already moving to heat up some water, desperate to have something to keep his hands busy. As Rantaro rummaged in the cabinet for tea bags, Tsumugi asked, “So, um… what happened?”

“I’m not sure, honestly,” he replied, ignoring the hairs standing up on the back of his neck at her words. Not even at her words - of being in the same room as her alone. He still didn’t have answers from the last time they saw each other, and thinking about it made his head hurt. He finally found a box of chamomile tea bags, taking two out before nudging it back into the cabinet and closing the door. “I think he and Kiibo might have been arguing, and then… something happened. He was flipping back and forth between two personalities or something.”

“Two personalities?” she repeated. “Like a split one? Oh, wow…” He listened as her footsteps crossed over to his side of the kitchen much to his dismay, looking for… something. “I don’t know much about that sort of thing, but it’s plain fascinating!”

Rantaro shook his head and placed the teabags in the pot upon the stove, resting the lid on top afterward. “No; I don’t think it’s DID or anything. I think it might be some kind of defense mechanism.” He paused, arms folding across his chest as he stared down at the pot. “Did you ever have imaginary friends as a kid?”

“Hmm… yes, I think I did, but not many of them,” she replied, the sound of plastic crinkling along with a cabinet door closing. Rantaro’s head turned at the sound, finding Tsumugi carefully tearing into a wrapped container of sandwich cookies. “But why ask that?”

“I’m trying to think of a decent analogy,” he explained. “One of my sisters, when she was younger, had this imaginary friend - I think she named it Mimi. Anyway, whenever she got in trouble or was upset, she’d call on Mimi. Korekiyo was acting sort of like that, but… a lot worse. A lot more worrying.” 

Tsumugi took a cookie out of the bag and turned it in her fingers before taking a dainty bite. She looked over at him for him to continue, but at the eye contact, he turned back to the teapot. 

“He was talking as if his dead sister was talking through him - like she possessed him. I know reality’s kind of weird right now because I came back to life after being dead, but possession doesn’t work like that. Korekiyo was too aware and faltered too much. I think his sister to him is like an imaginary friend to a kid.” He raised a hand from his chest to scratch at his nose absentmindedly before continuing. “It’s a coping and defense mechanism. We’ve just never seen him that upset, so I guess we just hadn’t seen it until now.”

“Oh, gosh…” replied the girl, a frown to her voice even as she reached for another cookie. “That’s horrible. You know, I always thought that Korekiyo had this dark and mysterious past - like the loner trope you always see, y’know? So I guess I was right, but…” She turned the sweet over in her fingers. “I didn’t think it would be actually dark.”

Personally, Rantaro found it a little disrespectful to make assumptions about people like that, but he wasn’t about to say that. His head was swarming with enough thoughts as was. Instead, he commented, “We can’t fix him, but we can be there for him. We’re all stuck here, so isolating someone because of their own personal demons is probably the worst we can do to them.”

Rantaro stalled as he reached out for the teapot, finding that his fingers were slightly trembling. His teeth subtly gritted, the man balling his hand into a brief, tight fist to quell it before taking the handle and moving to pour it into a mug. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tsumugi walk up towards him with the container. 

The tea was poured, the cup was placed on a saucer, and he still refused to look up. His fingers were trembling against the countertop as he took in a deep breath. This was all starting to catch up with him… again. Something gently prodded his shoulder, forcing him to look up and over.

Tsumugi was holding out a small chocolate cookie towards him, giving him a small, lopsided smile. “Here. Your hands are shaking, so I don’t know if you’ve eaten or anything…”

The small act of kindness, even from Tsumugi, was nearly enough to make him crumble - nearly. Unable to form an argument, he mustered up a smile and took hold of it with a thankful nod. The woman’s smile was beaming, holding up the container of cookies and commenting, “We can put these on the table for everyone to snack on! There’s nothing better than tea and cookies; it’s plain to see!”

Her enthusiasm was helping, if only a little. Rantaro smiled a bit tiredly before placing the cookie in his mouth and chewing, mustering up the will to stand up straight once more. He took hold of the saucer just as he swallowed, and before he could even ask, Tsumugi ran up to hold open the kitchen door for him with a smile. 

He stepped through, followed by Tsumugi herself, but when he looked to the dining room table, Korekiyo was nowhere to be found.

Rantaro’s throat was dry as he began to ask, “Where-”

“He said he wanted to go outside for a while,” Shuichi answered before the man could finish asking. “Just… apologized and walked out. He probably went back to his dorm.”

“And nobody went after him?” asked Tsumugi, pursing her lips into a frown. 

“I wasn’t sure if it was wise,” Kiibo admitted, though he seemed embarrassed to confess it. “Gonta was confused, and Shuichi was just talking about what we should do next.”

“Well,” she replied, taking in a small breath, “we could still-”

“I’ll go see if I can find him,” Rantaro interrupted, holding the tea a bit more firmly. “Gonta, would you mind going to get Himiko? She’s near the entry hall somewhere and I don’t think I have time to explain to her what’s going on.”

Gonta almost immediately stood from his chair, its legs making a screech against the floor and causing everyone to wince. “Gonta go find Himiko. We could… we could go find bugs! That make Himiko happy, right?”

Rantaro gave a weak smile. “Yeah… yeah. I’m sure it would. Maybe you guys could explore the upper floors of the school; there might be some spiders in their webs or something.”

Gonta was already walking out, and Tsumugi asked a bit hurriedly, “Do you want me to come help?”

However, he only shook his head. “No, it’s fine. He couldn’t have gone far. I just want to make sure he didn’t hurt himself is all.” Rantaro walked over to the door leading outside, carefully balancing the saucer in one hand to open it and step out. 

He took in a deep breath and exhaled wearily before taking his first step. Even as his legs occasionally wobbled and his head subtly pounded, he moved forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friend suggested i make a discord server for the fic?? would that?? be something people would be interested in at all?????? anyway hi i hope you're all having a lovely day stay safe   
> have i ever mentioned i dont proofread


	14. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for harmful stims and scratching! read safely friends

Stars threatened to speckle in the man's vision, arms burning and leg pounding with the strain of aggressively bouncing it against the floor. This wasn't proper. This wasn't polite. She usually talked him down by then, but she was quiet. Quieter than she ever had been.

It was a silence that made him deeply uncomfortable - an endless pit of helplessness that he desperately attempted to crawl out of. But there were no footholds, no rope ladder to take hold of. She would not lower it for him.

"I'm sorry!" wailed the man, fists balling against the side of his head and lightly hitting each side. "I'm sorry, Sister, please... please, I can't do this..."

No response. The only one he received was the deafening white noise flooding his ears and amplifying his headache.

He cried out and his torso flew backwards, the back of his head hitting the dorm wall. The familiar noise of nails against skin accompanied the buzzing in his ears. A tear pricked at his cheek.

The dorms were predictable - he knew that. But he also knew that when he was upset, he was loud, and that huddling outside would do him absolutely no good. 

His gaze flicked over to the door. Maybe he should have gone underground to the exit. At least then he would know he was safe. What made him think the dorms were safe?! What was wrong with him?

"What's wrong," hiccuped the anthropologist as his knees curled up against his chest and his back arched forward, "w-with me... Sister..." 

What else could he do to make up for his transgressions? He could tidy up and redo his makeup and hair, but he couldn't do that until he calmed down - something she needed to be present for. Was she upset that he couldn't do such a basic task? There were so many things for her to be mad about, so many variables, that he had no idea where it began and ended.

Korekiyo raised his hands and lightly slapped the sides of his head, taking in a deep breath. After exhaling, he struggled to push himself to his feet, thin legs slightly wobbling where he stood. 

He had to do something, lest he curl up so tightly on the floor that he would never unravel himself. It was that thought that propelled him forward, one hand braced against the wall as he shuffled further into the room.

Water. He took a bottle from the shelf and fidgeted with the cap before taking a long, thirsty sip. The rim was stained with lipstick when he pulled away, sucking in a breath. Makeup could wait. Hair could wait. He had to remember how to breathe.

After a step backwards, his back pressed against the wall, Korekiyo released a shaky exhale and closed his eyes. No Sister, no worries, no nothing - just focus on breathing.

A pang of guilt spiked in his chest at the thought of missing her should she show up, but he told himself that he wouldn't be able to talk to her anyway. 

His hand gripped a bit tighter around the bottle of water. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.

Something hitting the door made him jolt and release a gasp, free hand flying to his chest. Korekiyo's gaze flew over to the dorm's entrance, another hit slapping against the wood.

Silence.

Then, they tried the doorknob.

He had forgotten to lock it.

Who he expected, he did not know. Perhaps Shuichi. Rantaro was likely, even if the thought alone of seeing him made his stomach churn. What he did  _ not _ expect to see was a little redheaded witch, hand gripping the doorknob so tightly that her knuckles were stark white.

The two stood in silence. Korekiyo was still as a statue save for his ragged breathing and trembling hands that refused to calm themselves. Himiko was looking around the room, near frantic. Her brows were knit tightly, her jaw was locked, and her nose crinkled with the deepness of her scowl.

She was frightened, even if she appeared aggressive. Even in Korekiyo's fractured, fragile state, he could tell that much. Her shoulders were ever so slightly hunched back, her eyes were scanning every inch of the room, and she would not let go of the door, nor would she move.

It felt as if an incredibly long space sat between the two of them - one that stretched for miles. With every pound of the headache against Korekiyo's skull, the space grew longer and longer, further and further away, until Himiko was a distant and disfigured blob in his vision -

"Where is he?!"

Admittedly, he jumped. It was a wonder he didn't drop the bottle in his hands.

Himiko didn't wait for a response. She braved the doorway and moved inside.

However, she didn't rush Korekiyo, which he expected. Instead she ran over to the desks and bed, looking beneath both before throwing the closet open without much care for what fell in the process.

For the time being, Korekiyo's fear and panic was overshadowed by confusion. He placed his water down, daring to begin to ask why on earth Himiko was doing... whatever it was she was doing. 

But before he could get so much as a word out, the closet doors closed crisply and Himiko took a step back. She was stiff and visibly tense, ensuring that there was a semi-clear shot to the still-open door. A quick exit was obviously the only thing she had planned about the encounter.

"Rantaro!" the girl exclaimed all of a sudden. It caused Korekiyo to start, gasping when his back hit the smooth wall behind him. "Gonta - he told me that Rantaro went after you, and I know you did something to him!"

Her gaze, darting over the man as if staring would draw an answer from him, moved briefly over his exposed arms. Korekiyo hadn't even noticed that he was scratching them again, albeit subtly with the neck of the water bottle balanced in his pinky.

She chose to ignore it for now, it seemed. To her, there were bigger fish to fry. The girl threw an arm out in a wide gesture, her scowl deepening as she spoke. Tears had long since budded in her eyes, but now they were finally trickling down her pale cheeks.

"You're not going to take him away from me, too!" Himiko cried. Her outstretched fingers were trembling. “I’m tired of you - I’m tired of you taking everyone away from me!”

His fingers stalled. The bottle fell and he didn’t so much as flinch. The man’s throat felt like sandpaper when he spoke after shakily wetting his lips, “H-Himiko, I-”

“Shut up!” she interjected, voice shrill. “Just shut up! You talk and talk and talk, and  _ I  _ want to talk this time!” Himiko’s hands fell to her sides, only to throw them back up and grip the sides of her hat. They were tugged down so far it was a wonder that the fabric didn’t split, but obviously that was the least of her worries.

The girl swallowed hard, attempting to fight back the sob that threatened to escape her. Her gaze met Korekiyo’s, and in contrast to only days previous, it seemed the tables had turned. But Korekiyo did not see intrigue or fascination in those dull brown eyes of hers, glistening with the wetness of her own tears. He only saw anger, fear, desperation. 

Her knees were shaking, nearly knocking against each other, and yet she stood her ground. This teenager standing before him, this stage magician, held more courage than he believed he could ever muster - and she hadn’t even opened his mouth.

The thought made his fingers twitch against his skin.

“I still don’t understand why,” she finally managed to say, “you killed Tenko. I know you’ve said why, but that’s still not an excuse! It’s never an excuse! I’ve watched people I wanted to care about kill each other, I’ve seen...” She inhaled deeply, fists balled tightly against her hat. “I’ve seen so many bodies - I never wanted to see bodies… they’re always so still, and so cold, and they’re never gonna move or talk or be in anyone’s life ever again, cause someone took their soul and it can’t ever come back… and they’re never gonna be happy cause they died before they were supposed to, and… and I…”

Another tear trickled down her cheek, then a second and third on the opposite one. “And you… you just kill people like it’s nothing, like they were nothing, and…” 

Korekiyo was deathly still, every word of hers carrying weight. When the witch looked down at the ground, he felt even more on edge. A nail dug into his arm.

“I’m n-not… the best with people,” sniffed Himiko. Her shaking had started to quell, if only a bit. “So I don’t really talk to them, or I try to sound cool so they won’t ignore me. So everyone just thinks I’m weird. But Tenko…” Her voice ever so slightly cracked when she spoke her name. “She… never saw me as weird, or stupid, or annoying, and she never annoyed me… and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Himiko’s grip on her hat lessened until her hands fell from it, resting over her chest and taking hold of the fabric of her blazer for newfound purchase. “People don’t really talk to me, e-especially not people so energetic and loud like Tenko… but she cared about me, and… and she wanted me to be okay and to express myself… and I…”

Her eyes clamped shut, holding her shirt a bit more tightly as another tear escaped. “Just before I could th-thank her, she was gone, and her eyes were so distant and her skin was so cold, and…”

She couldn’t maintain her composure anymore, and a sob escaped the girl as she took hold of her head. It startled Korekiyo, the man flinching where he stood.

“I don’t care why you killed her!” she exclaimed all of a sudden, nails digging into her hair. “I don’t care! You killed her, and you didn’t even care, you didn’t feel sorry and you still don’t! You took away th-the one person in my life that cared about me, that loved me, and… and I just…”

Her hands hit the sides of her head once, twice, and then took hold of her hair and pulled. A few strands came loose as she let out a watery hiccup. Snot was dripping from her left nostril. Her hat was askew, her lip was quivering, and her eyes were full to the brim with tears.

But she was still standing.

“I won’t let you take Rantaro away from me, too!” Himiko cried, and Korekiyo flinched as the girl rushed forward, his back against the wall. 

A fist hit his chest. It was firm, but not all that painful. Another hit him, and another, a multitude of weak punches slamming into Korekiyo’s torso as Himiko released a scream. It was a scream of pain and of anguish and all the other things she had bottled up. It was coming out in waves, her voice cracking on the third screech as her fist hit his sternum.

It hurt, but not enough to phase him as much as the rest of the situation was. How clouded and frightened he felt only moments prior felt like nothing in comparison to how full his head was at that moment.

Korekiyo had killed people. Several, in fact, before the killing game was set into motion against his will. However, he was never caught, and he always left the scene of the crime as swiftly as he could. Not only had he been faced with the investigation, the dead body staring up at the ceiling before him, but he was called out on his actions by nearly everyone around him. He was used to living with the fact that he had taken the life of another human being - with telling himself that his actions were justified, and that it is what his love would have wanted.

He was not used to confrontation. He had never experienced the grieving shown before him in such depth, nor the anger and frustration the loved one of a victim held. Initially it had been fascinating - a mirror’s reflection of how he felt when the world took his beloved away from him so unjustly.

But the mirror was clouded now and covered with cracks. Himiko was so full of emotion and expression that it almost seemed too big for her small frame. It was like an explosion that had nowhere to go and no purpose. After she wore herself out, then what? Tenko would still be dead. Korekiyo would still be alive. Nothing would change.

“I…” His voice was even rougher than before, as if he hadn’t spoken in weeks. “I won’t… h-hurt Rantaro, Himiko, I pro-”

“ _ SHUT UP! _ ” the witch cried, followed by another loud sob as both of her fists weakly hit his abdomen. At last, the girl’s strength gave out, knees buckling and forcing her to sink to the floor. Her hat slipped off of her head and onto the floor. It was enough to make that last support of her emotional dam break. 

A wail came out of the girl so loud that it made Korekiyo jump. The sound rattled him to his very core, spreading out through his body and making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He was too scared to move - to breathe.

A gasp, however, escaped him when a figure ran into the doorway. He looked up and nausea welled in his abdomen nearly instantly.

Rantaro. There was a stain on his pant leg that looked like tea, his face paled and eyes as wide as saucers. Korekiyo watched as his gaze moved from Korekiyo, to Himiko, and back. After no more than three seconds of hovering in the doorway, he rushed forward and carefully lowered behind Himiko, resting his hands on her shoulders as carefully as he could.

The girl jolted, but before she could cry out again, Rantaro had embraced her in a hug with one hand resting atop her head. “Breathe, Himiko, please…”

Himiko hiccuped and turned around where she sat, her watery eyes meeting Rantaro’s concerned ones as her brows upturned. A sob, quieter than the last, was his answer as she wrapped her arms around him and curled into his front. 

“I d-didn’t-” Korekiyo began to speak, but any words he wanted to say trailed off. After a few tense seconds, Rantaro rose with Himiko wrapped around him tightly, supporting her in place like a mother tending to a frightened child. When their eyes met, Korekiyo hadn’t even realized until that moment that he himself had begun to cry, silent tears trickling down his thin cheeks.

Rantaro glanced down to the other man’s arms, his brows raising with concern at what he found. Korekiyo forced his gaze down to his skin, starting at the sight of blood seeping into the fabric of his undershirt. Even with it staring him in the face, he felt distant - almost weightless and not entirely there.

Both men seemed at a loss. Korekiyo knew that Rantaro didn’t want to leave, but he had to. In a way, he wanted him to. Nobody needed to see him like this. He couldn’t begin to explain himself if he tried. 

Himiko whimpered quietly and held onto Rantaro a bit tighter. The man looked at Korekiyo again, at a visible loss, and mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

Then, forcing his legs to move, he turned and headed out of the dorm room. The door was left ajar, and Korekiyo was left alone.

He fell to the floor almost immediately, ignoring the pain that it brought to his tailbone when he did so. Hands trembling, they inched their way up and onto his head, digging into the scalp. While his vision was focused squarely on the floor, he wasn’t looking at it - not really. His vision was too unfocused to even realize what it was.

Himiko’s hat.

“Why…” Korekiyo croaked, his eyes clamping shut as his knees pulled upwards to his chest. His shoulders hunched. His jaw clenched. A tear fell down onto his knee. “Why am I… what…”

He imagined his sister speaking to him, saying something like words of affirmation or of comfort. She would tell him that it was alright, that it wasn’t his fault, and that she loved him.

Scarred arms slunk around his legs, hugging them so tightly that his entire body shook. His head leaned back against the wall with a soft thunk, his blurred gaze sluggishly moving up to the ceiling light. His heart ached, feeling like lead in his chest.

“ _ Do _ you…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay gamers i made the server for the fic! https://discord.gg/5gw8nK4 (pls pls dont feel pressured to join lmao)  
> my love for himiko really jumped out here huh


	15. Pancakes

The clock on the wall read 3:27 A.M. Himiko lay sound asleep in her bed, resting so peacefully that it would be hard to believe she went through the ordeal she did mere hours earlier.

Rantaro had promised to stay with her as per her request. She had fallen asleep clutching his arm like a teddy bear, though she had since rolled over an hour or so later.

He hadn’t slept. 

Well, he had, but in short spurts. He would doze off then wake up afterward only to find that it had lasted all of ten minutes. It wasn’t the fault of the bed he lay on, or Himiko asleep beside him, but rather because his brain simply wouldn’t slow down. It hadn’t for the entirety of his stay at the school since his resurrection, but that night had truly set it into overdrive.

His cheeks were wet. Oftentimes, he woke up from his dozings silently crying. If he had been dreaming, he couldn’t remember them. Everything was too dull and hazy and jumbled together to form a coherent thought, let alone a visually recognizable dream. 

Hair fell around his face as he turned his head to the side on the pillow. His body was stiff from laying on his back for too long, but the thought of moving alone exhausted him.

Exhaustion. That was the most fitting word for his situation. The stress of it all kept piling and piling up, and by the time he started to consider letting it go and moving on, something else would hit him full force. Like that night.

Guilt ate at him like a caterpillar to a leaf. It was slow, tedious, and made him feel as if his mind was being steadily nibbled away at. _Ignore your feelings. Protect your friends. Don't think about death. Smile. Don't fuck it up._

Rantaro shifted onto his side, hands resting beneath his head. Nothing greeted him save for the darkness of the room, but yet even that was unnerving. He closed his eyes.

For hours, he had been telling himself that things would be better - that he would be better. But how could he think such a thing when the only one willing to do anything was him? He knew that the others meant well for the most part... but which one of them was going to do something? Who would take the first step?

Who _else_ was lying awake, crying themself to sleep?

They were all in an impossible, horrible situation. A game of Russian Roulette where the metaphorical gun is passed around the table and you anxiously have to wait for whoever lands on the bullet - with the gun pointed at someone else.

His head hurt.

There were too many thoughts swirling around in his head at once. His apprehension about the killing game, his distrust of Tsumugi, his worry for Himiko, and... whatever was going on with Korekiyo. Pity, fear, worry - everything. The more time went on, he felt it towards Himiko as well.

The girl laying beside him, her back to him, was breathing soundly in her sleep. She was the youngest one still alive, and his heart ached to think about how much it ate at her. She likely thought it was her responsibility to keep her head up and shoulders back, never to let her nonchalant facade crack lest she upset someone or worse.

It reminded him of his sister.

God, that was a whole other worry. Guilt clawed at his heart at the mere thought of his siblings. Rantaro loathed to admit it, but they hadn't been on his mind as much as they should have been. He shouldn't be in a caged-in school waiting for something to magically be fixed; he needed to be out there in the world looking for his family. 

It was strange, how he couldn't remember why or how they were so scattered - but it didn't matter in comparison to everything else in the grand scheme of things. He needed to...

Rantaro's eyes cracked open to face Himiko as she shifted in bed, rolling over. She lay a respectful distance away from him, hugging one of her pillows like a teddy bear and a small line of drool trickling out of the corner of her mouth.

His head turned and stared up at the darkness engulfing the ceiling.

He needed to do what he could in his current situation. Lamenting about his family was inevitable, but if all he could do at the moment was look out for his companions and try to take care of himself in the small spurts of time that he had... then that was what he would do.

As his eyes closed once more and slumber tugged at his mind, he mused to himself that he hoped he didn't destroy himself in the process.

* * *

_"Rise and shine, ursine!"_

The morning announcement, even though only two monokubs remained to sing it, rang through the man's ears like nails on a blackboard. The sudden noise awoke him from slumber so abruptly that he yanked the covers over his head and curled into a ball on his side. He had yet to notice his hair being tangled all around his neck and arms.

The red bear remarked cheerfully, _"Father has an announcement prepared for everyone this morning! He can't make it to the gym, so he's gonna explain it over the loudspeakers in an hour maybe. Maybe later?"_

"It depends on how long he wants to spend sitting around," mused the pink bear. The longer they talked, the more their chipper voices made his growing headache throb. Oh how he yearned for a television remote to shut the damn thing off. 

Monotaro continued, _"Anyway, keep your ears peeled-"_

_"I think it's eyes..."_

_"Eyes peeled!"_

_"No, they have to_ listen _to it!"_

_"Just pay attention to the TVs, okay?"_

The two spoke happily in unison, _"So long, bear well!"_ before leaving the room silent once more.

Korekiyo's eyes opened, staring down at his pillow. As soon as the silence engulfed him, he wished it had not. Silence meant that she wasn't there - that she wasn't talking to him.

His throat was as dry as a desert, voice coming out in the form of a whispered croak. "Sister...?"

Nothing. Not that he was surprised. Already, he felt tears bud in his eyes, not even bothering to blink them away.

The anthropologist had scarcely moved since the encounter the night previous. His head sported a nasty headache and a bruise on his forehead, a hand reaching up from his chest to cautiously press a finger to it.

Korekiyo winced. Yes, it was still there. He feared looking at his reflection; not only did he have a bruise, but he also fell asleep with his makeup on. Surely he was far too unsightly; Sister would be furi...

Another tear trickled down, his eyes closing. 

He almost wished she _would_ be mad, if only to prove that she was still with him.

At least the announcement would give him an excuse to stay in his room. Many mornings had he awoken such as this, but she had always been there to push him out of bed and keep moving, even if it was by force. That morning, however, nobody was telling him to get up and do his makeup and have breakfast. All he wanted to do was lay in bed.

So that is what he did. 

The man found himself dozing off and on, at last waking up the final time with a pillow held tightly to his chest. What had awoken him was the drumming of knuckles against the other side of his door.

The voice that called out made his body tense and untense so quickly that it made him winded, nearly choking on his own breath with how quickly and sharply he had inhaled in response. “Korekiyo,” said Rantaro’s voice, subdued and audibly tired, “can we talk?”

Korekiyo didn’t move. He was too frightened to; the thought of being perceived at all made him sick to his stomach. The only sound he made was a small whimper that he hoped Rantaro didn’t hear, holding the pillow even tighter to his chest. The motion, however, made his breath catch, the tightness suddenly reminding him of how he’d fallen asleep in his full uniform the night previous, sans the jacket.

Rantaro was speaking again. “... I made some breakfast. I don’t know if you like pancakes, but that’s what I always make for mornings after shitty nights. But it’s alright if you don’t want to-”

“Wait,” Korekiyo croaked, then cleared his throat and hesitantly pushed the covers over his head. “... I believe the door is unlocked.”

Already he regretted his decision. The doorknob turned, and suddenly he was aware of every imperfection on his body. He didn’t have time to duck back under the covers, for Rantaro had already nudged the rest of the door open with his shoulder and stepped in, a tray with food in his hands. Indeed, a plate stacked high with pancakes sat upon it along with accoutrements and a pitcher of juice.

But that wasn’t what he could focus on. No, all Korekiyo could pay attention to was the sad, tired, and lost expression in Rantaro’s eyes. Bags rested beneath them, brows slightly upturned with concern.

“I’m sorry; I slept in,” Korekiyo quickly spoke, clearing his throat and sitting up in bed with better posture than before. The pillow he had been holding rested in his lap, for he had released it in order to adjust the cuffs of his sleeves. “I haven’t had time to get dressed.”

“It’s alright, really,” replied Rantaro, and the tone of his voice indicated that he meant it. Stepping further inside, he placed the tray down on its usual spot on the coffee table. Korekiyo took it as an indicator to reluctantly move out of bed, nudging the covers aside and carefully swinging his legs over the side to stand.

As Rantaro poured them juice and set empty plates on either side, Korekiyo moved over to sit across from him on his knees. His hands balled into fists at his lap, tangled hair falling around his shoulders.

The room was silent as Rantaro served them. Finally, however, he was done, and placed his own hands in his lap. Korekiyo subtly winced just as his companion inhaled to talk. However, his voice was even. “I want to help you, Kiyo.”

Brows creased in confusion, the man glanced up, though Rantaro’s eyes were set on his plate of food. He continued, “... But I need to help myself, too, and I can’t do that. You have a lot of things going on, and there’s nothing I want to do more than help you through them, but I really don’t think I’m strong enough to handle everything myself.” He released a humorless, quiet laugh. “God, it’s weird to say that out loud.”

Korekiyo's hands balled into even tighter fists in his lap. Of course he'd been nothing but a burden; their past two encounters indicated as much, as far as he was concerned. An apology fell on his tongue, but before he could release it, Rantaro spoke again.

"I know it's probably selfish," he continued, "but it's the only solution I've been able to think of." At last, he looked up and met Korekiyo's eye. "I thought that maybe we could help each other."

It took a moment or so for Korekiyo to process the statement, and when he did, he appeared confused. "I'm… not sure what you mean," he admitted. 

"We both have… issues," Rantaro elaborated. One of his hands shifted up to rest over his chest, a small sigh escaping him. "I'm shouldering a lot of things right now, and I … I don't even know what's really going on with you, but I know you've been hurt." Lips tugging down into a frown, he added, "... In more ways than one."

Korekiyo took in a breath. It was his turn to stare down at his food now, unable to maintain the eye contact for very long.

He was shaken out of his quickly arriving daze when his guest kept talking. "I know there are others here, but… you're smart, Kiyo. You care, too; you care about so many things, even in a place like this. And even if I'm stressed, I can still stand up and keep walking if I try hard enough." Rantaro's hand took hold of the fork beside his plate, though all he did was curl his fingers around it. "But eventually I'm going to collapse, and you're going to run out of things to focus on.

"Both of those things scare me." His brow knit. "More than I'd want to admit. I'm rambling now, I know, but… I don't know. Call me stupid, but I feel like there's some weird connection between us. Call it fate or whatever you want; it's just a gut feeling to me."

Korekiyo was still staring down at his lap, hands folded atop each other. "I'm… not sure if I could be of much help; my grounding hasn't really been the best…"

"Then I'll help with that," Rantaro replied, quicker than expected. "I can help you help yourself… and in return, you can just... listen."

His head was subtly throbbing in the back of his skull trying to process it all. Of course he was more than happy to help Rantaro, but even now, he wondered why the man bothered. It wasn't as if he was worth worrying about.

… Right?

"I'm happy to lend an ear to whatever you need to say," Korekiyo finally replied. "I've been told that I'm a good listener, but please - don't feel like you have to reciprocate…"

When he glanced up due to the silence, he only found that Rantaro was smiling lopsidedly - and a little sadly. "It's a little late for that. I mean, I already got a head start on you with cooking a whole breakfast, huh?"

There was that laugh of his that Korekiyo had since picked up on. It was warm and inviting, but at the same time, it always held an air of tiredness and subdued melancholy. It was particularly evident just then.

There was no reason for the food to go cold. The men both seemed to decide without conversation that it was time to eat. Rantaro speared a piece of ham with his fork and asked, "Did you sleep through the morning announcement?”

"Actually, it woke me up,” replied Korekiyo as he took a sip of his juice. “Something about an announcement if I’m remembering correctly. Seems those never fair too well around here.”

“Unfortunately,” his companion agreed. “If what I’ve picked up from Shuichi is any indication, it’s probably a new motive for murder - but I can’t see anyone here that’s left trying to commit murder.”

Korekiyo unfolded his napkin and placed it daintily in his lap, grateful that his trembling fingers were slowly starting to quell. “I’ve thought the same before, but then a motive is presented and tides shift so quickly. Kirumi was perfectly happy to stay here and serve us all until her memories were returned to her; I watched a woman go mad that afternoon. I daresay I’d never seen anything like it.”

When he looked back up, Rantaro looked troubled. Though, he managed to work through it before continuing the conversation. “Let’s hope he doesn’t have anything up his sleeve.”

“I do find it strange that the announcement will be over the televisions,” Korekiyo mused. “Typically, he calls everyone into the gym under threat of death. It makes you wonder.”

“Yeah, that is kind of strange.” With a slightly creased brow, Rantaro glanced up to the television, its screen black. “Guess we’ll find out sooner or later.”

* * *

“Hey, be careful there! That area is-”

“I’m going to ask you one more time to be quiet and let me work. And stop squirming or else I might actually fuck something up.”

The sound of metal against metal was subtle in the room, a somewhat complementary sound to the noise of computer keys occasionally clacking. Monokuma, his chest cavity open with wires exposed, rested on his back in the lap of a gruff looking woman with her sleeves pushed up to her shoulders.

“I’m _fine_ ,” said the bear, waving his paw as best as he could in his current position. “Just a flesh wound, y’know?”

“You don’t have flesh, and I’m making sure nothing was too heavily damaged. You’re the only one we’ve got now, so I’m going to be _beyond_ pissed if I have to make another one of you.” She paused. “Maybe it’d be for the best. I could make it so you weren’t able to talk anymore.”

“Y’know what?” he replied, pausing for effect before continuing, “Actually, never mind. Just hurry it up, would you? I’ve got to be on the air in ten minutes!”

“You don’t have to be on the air at _any_ specific time, so just shut up and let her work,” mumbled the person in the computer chair, followed by an annoyed groan. With a foot, he pushed against his desk to spin his chair around. “You go on when she’s done. Then you get more repairs. We’ve explained this _three_ . _Times._ ”

“That’s easy for you to say; what if my adoring audience misses me?” pouted Monokuma. 

They elected to ignore him. The man in the chair brought his feet up with his knees to his chest, cheek resting against one. “So have you figured out any specifics yet? Tsu’s gonna be annoyed if you haven’t.”

“She’s going to be annoyed no matter what I do,” replied his friend, deadpan. Monokuma yelped, voice briefly glitching, as she shoved a screwdriver deep into his torso and gave it a turn. “The best I can figure is that something heavy fell on him. He already said that nobody was around when it happened.”

“I’m right here, you kn-kn- _knooooow_ \- yowza!” 

The woman placed a hand on his face, despite knowing that it wouldn’t silence him in the slightest. “At least we had a spare head.”

“I didn’t notice anything on the cameras, so it was after we went to bed,” shrugged the masked man. “But we’re not telling Tsu that. She’s going to start suggesting we sleep in shifts, and the next body that’ll be discovered is _hers_ if she tells me to start doing that.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” she replied, though didn’t elaborate, instead dropping the screwdriver and reaching for a small surgical-looking tool. “Just a couple more tweaks and you can get on the couch and do the announcement. But come right back when you’re done; I still have to make sure your head’s adjusted.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Monokuma replied, unconcerned. “So long as I don’t look stupid on screen!”

“That’s not my problem to worry about.” 

After five or so more minutes had passed, she slid his chest plate back on and picked him up much as one would a toddler, setting the robot on his feet. “Can you walk?”

“What kind of question is that?” he replied. “‘Can I walk,’ of course I can! I’m fit as a-”

The bear took one step forward and nearly toppled, the woman reaching out and grabbing him under the arms before he hit the ground and promptly lifting him up as she stood. “Guess that’s a no.”

As she stepped across the room with him in hand, the man at the computer desk spun back around and tapped a few keys. “I’ll set the broadcast system up; just make sure you’re out of frame when I click live.”

“Where’re your little crotch goblins, anyway?” she asked, placing Monokuma down on the standard couch for morning and evening broadcasts, followed by adjusting a light nearby. After making sure the camera was set at the right angle, she stepped out of frame and folded her arms. “Over half of them are gone now; maybe they need to be kept on a leash.”

“Kids are free spirits; I would never rob them of that!” argued Monokuma, patting his chest with a paw as if to make sure all his parts were still there. They were, in fact, not, and a good portion still rested on the floor where his mechanic had been working. He didn’t seem to notice. “Can we get on with it already? I’m so excited about this one! My best one yet!”

“You mean Tsumugi’s best one yet,” she deadpanned. “Yeah, yeah; let’s get it over with. Go, Min.”

“Live in one, two…”

_Click._

“Good morning everyone!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii i know updates are slow but i picked up a bunch of new activities + my qpp got me acnh for my birthday so ive been super busy and only able to work on the fic in spurts at night before bed :')


	16. Motive

The motive was simple. It was so simple, in fact, that it felt almost frivolous. However, simplicity did not always equal insubstantial. It certainly didn’t in the case of many of the people at the academy that afternoon.

Or at least one of them.

Kaito Momota sat on his bed, cool beads of sweat dripping down his temples. The announcement, despite having aired half an hour ago, still echoed in his mind like a ping pong ball ricocheting off the walls. The stress, paired with his fit of coughing he endured just as the broadcast began, had made him grow hot, bordering on overheated. With an annoyed, raspy groan, he fell backwards on the bed with his arms outstretched. 

The others were probably taking all this fine. No reason to worry, right? They’d all get out of there in the end, anyway - that’s what they kept telling themselves, and what he kept urging them to believe. It’s what he himself wanted to believe. 

But the more days that passed, the more nights he slept in a stiff bed with speckled bloodstains on the pillow, the less he found himself willing to take on that positive mindset. People searched the grounds of the school nearly every single day, and no exit had been found yet. 

It wasn’t as if he was going to give up, but it was just… hard. Very hard.

A hand raised upwards and ran a bit stiffly through his hair, leaving it even more messy and tousled than it had been before. His arm fell next to his head as a sigh escaped the man, staring up at the ceiling.

“Damn it.”

Laying on his bed all day would get him nowhere, but it was all he could find himself to do. If he didn’t get out of there-

A knock was heard on his door. Surprised, he lifted his head and stared across the room at it, though he didn’t verbally respond just yet. He recognized the knock; everyone at the school who came to his room - which was two people - had a certain way of introducing themselves. It helped him know who was at his door.

And the person who was at his door was certainly  _ not _ someone he wanted to see, or rather, he didn’t want them to see  _ him. _

Though, he knew that pretending to be asleep wouldn’t work. Briefly, he considered grabbing his blanket and tossing it over himself, but the mere thought of getting even hotter made him queasy. With a weary sigh, he forced himself to sit up and shift his legs so they were crossed upon the bed, hands in his lap. Ignoring the dizziness trying to linger in his head, he called, “Come in!”

The door was pushed open, and a familiar face stepped inside. Kaito seemed confused at first, but before he could voice his question, his guest turned to face him. 

“You didn’t come to lunch,” Maki said blankly as she nudged the door shut. “We were worried. You’re not still upset over the ghost stories, are you?”

She didn’t appear concerned that her friend was in a t-shirt and boxers, his hair messier than it had ever been. He likely looked like he just woke up. With a shake of his head, ignoring the queasiness the motion brought him, he replied with a wave of his hand, “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just really hot today; didn’t want to go out.”

Maki eyed the thermostat on the wall next to the door before her steely red gaze shifted back to him. “It’s seventy degrees in here. You’re not getting sick, are you?”

“Sick? You think someone like me can get sick?”

A pause. “Yes, I do.”

“Oh.”

The woman stepped further into the room and eyed Kaito intently, as if she would uncover everything that was on his mind just by observing him close enough. 

He raised a hand and scratched the back of his head, attempting to remain casual. “So, uh… new look? Where’d you get the clothes?”

She stopped peering over him and briefly met his eyes before glancing down at herself. Unlike every other day before then, she now donned a pair of short overalls and a turtleneck sweater, military-like boots and speckled socks replacing the stockings and ankle boots from before. “Yes,” she replied. “I asked Tsumugi if she could help me with a new outfit. I was going to lose my mind if I had to wear a short skirt one more day.”

“Having to wear the same thing every day is annoying, yeah,” he agreed. “It, uh… it looks nice on you.”

Maki stalled. “... Thank you. Now then; enough beating around the bush. What’s wrong?”

Right. He knew she wouldn’t let him stall for much longer, but it was nice to think that she might. “Really Maki; I’m fine. I just woke up feeling a little off, that’s all! Don’t worry about it.”

Her expression was deadpan, gaze steady, unmoving, and downright intimidating. The woman didn't so much as move save for the occasional blink, obviously waiting for him to crack.

She knew him too well. It took exactly fifteen seconds.

"Alright, alright," he replied, hands up in surrender. "I woke up feeling sick, and the Monokuma broadcast didn't really help. I got stressed, then I got sicker, then I got really hot, and now I'm sweaty. I think that's everything."

At last, her stare relented. The tension in Maki's shoulders loosened ever so slightly, a barely noticeable sigh of relief escaping her nostrils. After closing her eyes for a few seconds to gather herself, they opened and looked back at him, far less intense than before. "What do you mean by sick? Do you think you have a cold?"

Kaito raised his arms and stretched them upward with a quiet grunt as he replied, "Yeah, probably just a cold. One of those 24 hour bugs or whatever. I'll probably hang out inside most of the day and tough it out."

"So you won't be coming to training again." It wasn't a question, but more of a statement. "... It's for the best. The last thing I want is you finally getting to two push-ups and immediately passing out."

"Hey, I can do more than two; I have before!" Kaito retorted, but Maki was looking away. He could have sworn he saw the smallest amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips. His own mirrored it tenfold, giving a quiet chuckle and letting his arms fall to his lap.

Maki eventually broke the silence with a sigh. "Just do me a favor and take care of yourself. You know how upset Shuichi would be if you didn't."

"Come on; a little cold can't stop me," scoffed the man, beating his chest once with a fist. "I'm Kaito Momota, Luminary-"

"Even astronauts need bed rest," Maki interrupted, visibly smiling then. "Especially you. So rest up." Pushing off of her knees, she stood and rose to her full height. "One of us will bring you some lunch in a little while. Take it easy."

Kaito waved a hand absentmindedly. "Yeah, yeah, I will. You too, yeah? I can't be out there cheering everyone on to helo them get through this, so you're gonna have to do my work for me." 

Maki smiled again and shook her head. After reaching the door, she dipped her head in farewell and stepped out.

Kaito's hand lowered, staring down at his palm. It had been speckled with vibrant red blood not an hour earlier, and now it was spotless.

How symbolic.

* * *

"So where have you traveled?"

Rantaro and Korekiyo were currently out for a walk. The former had insisted that fresh air would do the both of them good, while the latter had been the one to suggest idle chitchat. It would help form a budding friendship, he'd said.

Korekiyo pondered the question as he walked, a bandaged hand moving to his chin in thought. "Several places," he finally replied, "but all have been within Japan so far. I had plans to traverse to China before all of this happened, but obviously that didn't exactly work out."

Rantaro gave a short, humorless chuckle in reply. One of his hands extended in the air to brush against the leaves of a tree that they passed, their surfaces cool against his fingertips. "Surprisingly enough, I can relate. I already had a ticket for Italy ready to go, but then four days before the flight, I find myself here."

"Oh, I've heard wonderful things about Europe; truth be told, I've always wanted to go," mused Korekiyo. "It's not that I can't; just that... Well, I don't know." He paused. "Something has always told me to stay in Japan until I discover everything that I can."

"You'll never get out of the country if that's the case," replied Rantaro with a lopsided grin. Korekiyo didn't understand why he was smiling about it. "Japan is huge; you can still explore, but what about burnout?"

"... Burnout?" Korekiyo repeated, as if he had never heard the term before. "Is that another word for growing tired?"

"Yeah, more or less," his friend replied. "You do the same thing or go to the same place over and over, and even if you live it, the overexposure starts making you feel like crap.

"I'm no expert, but stepping away from what you're used to can be healthy. Let me think of another example, ah..." Rantaro held a finger to his chin in thought, though it didn't take long to come up with a continuation. "Hobbies. It's like when you do one activity too repetitively and you start to resent it. Same can be said for traveling."

Korekiyo took a few seconds to ponder this, glancing upward when a leaf fluttered by. As he watched it curl and twist leisurely in the breeze, he replied, "I suppose. Given we actually leave this place, I'll try to find somewhere new to explore. Have you any recommendations?"

"England is nice around this time of year, but it rains a lot there," replied the man. "So... bring an umbrella if you go. If you're looking for somewhere to study anthropology, I don't really know what to say; never considered it when I moved around."

"Pardon me if I'm prying," Korekiyo responded, "but... why  _ is _ it that you travel, exactly? Is it for work?"

Rantaro knew the question would come up eventually, and there was no easy way to answer. He certainly didn't want to lie. Therefore, he only shrugged. "I'm looking for my sisters. They're lost, and I've been trying to find them. It's why I want to get out of here sooner rather than later."

Korekiyo paused at that, and only after a few seconds of silence did Rantaro realize that his friend had stopped walking. He himself stopped and turned to look, finding Korekiyo stopped a few feet away in deep thought. His brow was knit, hand to his chin.

At last, he glanced upward and quickly stepped forward to join Rantaro once more. "All of your sisters are missing?" He suddenly asked, incredulous.

"Well... yeah," Rantaro replied, tucking a hand in his pants pocket. "They just up and disappeared one day."

"And you don't find that odd?"

The shorter man paused. He had several sisters - more than several - and they had indeed gone missing. But...

"From what I've gathered, your siblings all consist of varying ages," Korekiyo continued. "Many live away from home. Whoever did this would have to be very meticulous, would they not?"

_ It makes sense Korekiyo would think of something like that _ , he mused. Mentally scolding himself for even thinking such a thing, he nudged the thought out of his mind. "I guess, yeah. My only guess is that it's a hostage situation; my family isn't, uh..." He briskly cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed. "Anyway, maybe they want money, but I haven't heard from the kidnappers - if there even are any."

Korekiyo took a moment to ponder this. "... I see. I apologize for questioning such a thing; it isn't my business either way."

"No, no; it's alright, " Rantaro insisted as he held up a hand. "It's good to think about these things. Truth be told, I never really questioned it."

His companion was quiet for a few seconds, but then a hand raised to adjust his mask. "Perhaps you're the ultimate traveler or something of that nature."

Rantaro smiled, even if it was lopsided and a bit melancholy. "Doesn't ring any bells, but maybe. So uh, while I'm thinking about it, what are your hobbies besides anthropology? I know you mentioned you enjoyed cooking once."

"Oh, I scarcely have the time to do much of anything else," Korekiyo replied with a brief wave of his hand. "Though this killing game situation has certainly given me a lot of time on my hands, so I've been reading the few books provided by the warehouse and my lab.

"I wouldn't call it a hobby or anything, but I enjoy doing my makeup." He appeared to smile behind the mask. "It's a necessity... but I still find myself loving the process and payoff."

"Hey, we could have a sleepover and do each other's makeup," joked Rantaro with a chuckle, but the humor seemed to fly right over Korekiyo's head. "I like to think I'm pretty good at painting nails myself. Have you ever done that?"

The anthropologist glanced down at his bandaged hands, but before Rantaro could apologize, he replied in a tone more subdued than before, "I did when I was young, yes. My sister and I would make a little fort of sorts out of the blankets we had on hand, put on an old film, and do each other's nails. I was never the best at it, but..."

Rantaro watched as the man's brows upturned, unsure of how to continue. It was a fond memory, but it was quickly turning bitter. It must have been from their early childhood.

"She... hasn't been speaking to me. I apologize," Korekiyo abruptly elaborated. "If I seem a touch off, it has nothing to do with you, I assure you."

Well, the conversation had certainly taken another tense turn. Rantaro studied Korekiyo quietly as he talked, noting how his frame had slightly hunched and how he was fidgeting with the bandages on his fingers. The latter was a recurring tick, it seemed. "I'm just a bit tense is all; please don't worry about me. I'm certain she'll return."

Truthfully, Rantaro wasn't sure how to approach the sudden situation. If he was being honest with himself, the thought alone made his stomach flip flop. Korekiyo had a lot of issues that Rantaro couldn’t even begin to address properly at the moment Whatever the case, the middle of the courtyard wasn't the best place to talk.

“How about we do something to take your mind off of things?” he finally offered, causing the anthropologist to glance back up. “If you’re comfortable with it, we could do just that. Sleepover with makeup, nails, movies, and some snacks. Maybe it’s not the best timing, but in a place like this, I don’t know if there _ will  _ be a best time.”

Korekiyo seemed intrigued, but a bit apprehensive. Perhaps the offer had struck a nerve, or a memory that had long since turned bitter. Hesitation was painted over his partially covered face as a hand moved upward to tuck a lock of long black hair behind his ear. Stubbornly, it only draped back down and over his shoulder once more.

“Perhaps… that would be good,” he finally said, voice quieter than before. “It’s good to create fond memories… Pleasant ones to help ease the pain of the ones that linger from the past.” Visibly, he swallowed hard, allowing his hand to rest over his chest as he once again met Rantaro’s eye. “What time is good for you, then?”

Silently, Rantaro took note that the fingers on Korekiyo’s resting hand were subtly trembling, as if saying such a thing had rattled him. He tried not to stare, instead maintaining eye contact and smiling. “How about eight or so? That gives me enough time to set everything up after dinner.”

A small, singular nod was his response. “Eight it is, then. I haven’t had a sleepover or anything of the sort since I was a boy; my etiquette may not be the best.”

“Don’t worry about it,” replied Rantaro, and he meant it. “I think it’ll be good for the both of us.”

He smiled then, warm and friendly, and even though Korekiyo’s mouth was covered, the visible lifting of his cheeks and subtle glint to his eye indicated that he was smiling, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i always add notes but idk what to say for this one so [slam] cheese


	17. Sleepover

To say that he was nervous would be an understatement.

Korekiyo stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, brows knit and hands hovering in the air before his chest, unsure of where to go. Ever since he and Rantaro had parted ways that afternoon, it had been silent. He couldn't stand silence.

Of course he'd tried to speak with her, but she never responded. Even as he did his hair, makeup, and lipstick as meticulously as he always did, there was no response to any of his conversation starters.

A bag rested on the left side of the sink counter. It held his pajamas, toothbrush, and any other essentials he figured he may need. He could only assume, after all; it wasn't as if he had ever done this before.

Gaze shifting down to his torso, or more specifically, his hands, Korekiyo released a sigh that was much shakier than intended. He would be fine. It was just a visit, after all; there was absolutely no reason for Sister to be jealous of such an interaction.

Which meant that she must be upset at something else.

For the umpteenth time that day, Korekiyo wracked his brain for any possible thing he may have done to upset her. The list was near infinite, but the goal of mentally revisiting the events of the past day and a half was to ensure that he hadn't forgotten anything to properly apologize for. While he was almost certain he'd covered all of his bases, there had still been no letup to the silent treatment.

... Going to someone's dorm in such a state would be rude - beyond rude, really. With a small shake of his head, Korekiyo reached for his bag and rummaged around inside to make sure that everything was in place. Seemingly satisfied, he picked it up by the strap and slung it over his shoulder.

The dorm rooms had no locks, and so he didn't bother to secure the door as he exited the room. Thankfully Rantaro's dorm was right next to his own, and all the man had to do was duck beneath the stairs on his way over. As he stood before the door, he hesitated, hand stalling in midair.

This was ridiculous. Why was he so nervous? Well, he knew part of why he was so nervous. However, Sister's silence had little to nothing to do with a sleepover with a newfound friend. 

Maybe it was because he'd never done it before?

Swallowing down his worries as best as he could, his bandaged knuckles made contact with the door and rapped against the smooth surface once, twice, thrice before stopping. His arm fell back down to his side, the man taking in a quiet breath.

Korekiyo's posture instantly straightened when he heard the door click. It swung open, revealing Rantaro in casual, comfortable clothing. He gave his newfound guest a smile, gesturing for him to come in. "Welcome."

"Thank you," Korekiyo quickly replied as he stepped inside, Rantaro closing the door behind him. Truth be told, he was surprised at the decor. Not only was he simply used to his own room, but it seemed that Rantaro had gone all out to accommodate the evening's events.

Extra pillows and blankets were along the floor, while a small pile of snacks rested upon a coffee table that had been pushed up against the corner. The room smelled of floral air freshener, and fairy lights had been draped along the wall.

"I got a little carried away," admitted Rantaro before his guest could even comment on the decor. "But hey, it was fun. What's a sleepover without the right ambiance, yeah? Oh, set your bag wherever."

Korekiyo opted to set it down next to the closed closet doors, still admiring the interior before his line of sight shifted to Rantaro, who was busy tapping at his Monopad for one reason or another.

Rantaro had held very tired eyes since the two of them met all those weeks ago - but they had grown heavier and heavier ever since his revival. While the subtle purple bags still rested on his face, there was an aura about the man that told Korekiyo that he was... relaxed. Maybe not entirely relaxed, but it felt genuine enough. 

It was the first time he realized that relaxation, specifically exhibited by Rantaro, could be a false presentation. How often and how long had he been...?

His host glanced up from the pad, the two briefly holding the eye contact before Korekiyo quickly looked away. He decided to break the silence by inquiring, "May I ask what it is you're doing?"

"I'll just be another second," Rantaro quickly replied in an almost embarrassed manner. "I've been fidgeting with the thing every night, so I was trying to get it over with now so I wouldn't have to mess with it later."

Korekiyo crouched down to remove his boots and sat them by the door. "What exactly are you having trouble with?"

When he didn't get an immediate answer, his head inclined upwards to look over at the man. He seemed anxious. 

"You'll probably think I'm crazy," Rantaro at last replied, "but I'm almost positive that I had a different Monopad when the killing game started. So I've just... been trying to run through all the programs on this and see if maybe it was just patched or something. Anyway..." 

The tip of his finger hit the power button, and the pad was placed upon a high shelf near the bed. "We're having a sleepover to relax, so I'm just going to stop worrying about it for now."

The anthropologist couldn't help but wonder if the morning announcement had prompted him to investigate the pad so feverishly. It was possible, but confusing, for the two of them had discussed over breakfast that neither would try to kill someone - let alone over the motive presented to them.

Even if Korekiyo had noticed a bead of sweat dripping down the side of Rantaro's face during the conversation.

Rantaro's hands clasped together, a smile brightening up his face like a switch being flipped on. "Well, uh, feel free to change in the bathroom whenever you want to get in your pajamas. I haven't done this in a little while, so I'm kind of rusty."

"Host something, you mean?" questioned Korekiyo with the slightest tilt of his head. "It certainly doesn't seem like it; you've taken the effort to do so much for such a simple thing. I hardly call that rusty."

The smile became lopsided. "Thanks, Kiyo. I'll get the rest of the snacks out; I managed to find some ice cream, but I'm kind of worried it might taste bad."

Korekiyo had reached into his bag for his pajamas whilst Rantaro was talking, having since retrieved them. "There's only one way to find out, I suppose, though that can be said for most things. May I?"

"Of course; go ahead," replied the man as a hand jostled through his hair. As he rummaged in a paper bag on the floor, supposedly for snacks, Korekiyo stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

He was alone. A deep, somewhat shaking inhale was breathed in, followed by an equally long exhale. Korekiyo's gaze shifted to his reflection, at his uniformed self and perfect makeup. The thought of getting in his pajamas - or any casual wear - around someone other than Sister made guilt well in his chest for reasons unknown. Sister had spent such a long time crafting his uniform; to wear anything other than it in the presence of others felt like blasphemy.

However, he knew that wearing it to bed would wrinkle it, and the last thing he needed was another reason to make her upset.

The all too familiar feeling of anxiety-induced butterflies in his chest threatened to rse to the surface, though the anthropologist quickly stomped them down and got to work undressing. It was much easier said than done, as it was every night, for his uniform had so many intricate layers he wouldn't dare risk creasing.

Korekiyo's reflection, as much as he despised admitting it, almost always started him when he was in his undergarments. Once he had set the neatly folded uniform beside the sink, his hat resting atop the pile, he observed himself.

Bandages curled upward and stopped just above his elbows, but they did nothing to hide the scars and marks littered elsewhere. Many others rested upon his shoulders and the sides of his torso, but they were never exposed enough to warrant properly covering.

The more he looked at himself, the more discomfort he felt. Undoing the velcro of his mask, he placed it on the pile. Korekiyo's arms slid through the sleeves of his sleek black pajama top with ease, though he grimaced as he buttoned it up over the thin, but sturdy fabric resting over his torso. Sleeping in it for one night wouldn't hurt, surely.

He hoped.

The pants were next, followed by slippers. Though he desperately tried to fight his numerous anxieties out of the way, Korekiyo still found his breath catching upon itself as he opened the door with his free hand.

Rantaro looked up from what he was fidgeting with - the television remote - and Korekiyo instantly felt naked. He was far too exposed, too improper - anyone would be put off by his appearance.

Yet Rantaro, ever the kind soul, only smiled and commented, "I like those. I could only find silk pajamas in pink last time I went to the warehouse."

His guest seemed a bit shocked where he stood, still not used to being regarded so casually. He decided to busy himself with putting his clothes back in his bag, careful not to jostle them around too much. "Thank you. I had to check in the back for them."

"Not that there's anything wrong with pink," Rantaro quickly amended, "It's just not my style. I grew up around a lot of pink with all my sisters, so I've had my share of it, I think."

The man chuckled then, going back to flipping channels on the television. They all seemed to be pre-recorded and Monokuma themed, several being endless loops that lasted no more than ten to fifteen seconds. At last, Rantaro pressed a button to make the screen go blue. "At least I've got some movies."

Korekiyo stood a bit awkwardly by his bag, instinctively tugging a sleeve downward to hide his hand - even though both were still covered. When his host glanced upward and they met eyes, he suddenly wished he was anywhere but there.

"... You alright?" asked Rantaro, brows raised in concern. "I know you're not used to sleepovers, but like we said; it's for new memories - good ones."

Despite his tongue feeling as if it was made of sandpaper, Korekiyo replied. "Yes, of course. I suppose I'm just not used to being so... exposed." He forced himself to step forward, sitting almost daintily on the end of Rantaro's bed. "I never show my casual self to others; it feels disrespectful."

Rantaro took a few seconds to think his companion's words over, peering down at the DVD cases laid out in his palms. "I know what you mean, yeah," he finally responded. "Maybe not when it comes to stuff like clothes and makeup, but I can emphasize."

Suffice to say, Korekiyo's curiosity was piqued. "Would it be alright to ask how you mean?" he inquired, hands resting atop each other in his lap.

"Well... eh, it's kind of embarrassing," he replied with a chuckle - only this time, the sound held no humor, and the warmth it typically radiated had withered into a desperately flickering spark. "I... don't like letting people see how I really feel, I guess. Makes me feel like I just worry them. I know; it's silly. Being in a big family, being the eldest... eh, I had to put my sisters first."

Rantaro's shoulders looked heavy, as if admitting that to someone had thrown an invisible weight upon them. Despite his smile, Korekiyo could see in the man's face that he was quickly trying to mask any negative emotion threatening to seep out. At last, his head turned back towards the movie cases laid out before him. 

The man cleared his throat. "But yeah. Just chilling like this in pajamas with no worries... I guess I'm not used to it. So that was basically a way too personal way of saying that I'm a little anxious too, so don't worry."

Korekiyo waited a few seconds before replying. Despite knowing that his host likely wished to drop the subject, he couldn't help but present another question. "If I may, what is it that makes you want to withhold that?"

His breaths were softer, catching whenever Rantaro moved to speak. Consciously, Korekiyo didn't understand why. Perhaps he was seeking an answer to benefit more than just Rantaro's peace of mind. A movie had been picked, the others being nudged into the plastic bag they came from. Rantaro rose to his feet before responding.

"I don't know."

As he felt around for a DVD slot, the room fell a bit silent. Not wanting it to linger, for Korekiyo was obviously still awaiting an answer, he added on to his reply. "I just don't want to inconvenience anyone, I guess. I'd rather help others out; I can deal with my own problems later on."

While Korekiyo had been absentmindedly picking at a strip of bandage wrapped around his ring finger, he was still listening quite intently. He understood - more than understood. Things he had mused about in passing started making sense the more Rantaro talked; something had always seemed... off. Not in an unsettling way, but just an unknowing way. As if every muscle in Rantaro's face was desperately trying to make sure that his smile remained as kind and welcome as possible.

"Would talking help?" Korekiyo asked. His head lifted upward to look at his companion, though all he was met with was his back. At last, Rantaro had found the disc slot, for he slid it in and sat back down on the floor. Remote in hand, he tossed it up in the air briefly before catching it and hitting play.

"Maybe not right now."

Even though Rantaro wasn't looking, his guest nodded in understanding. "Of course. This evening was to relax, after all... I'm very sorry if I opened any wounds."

"What?" replied Rantaro, incredulous. His head turned to meet Korekiyo's eye, a brow quirked and his grin looking a bit more genuine. "No, you're fine. I'm the one that got all personal and weird." 

After turning back to the television screen, he pushed the button to skip the trailers and remarked, "This is mostly just background noise. I've got a few ideas for what we can do until we get bored."

Though his mind still lingered on the previous conversation, he forced himself, one way or another, to respond appropriately. "What are they, exactly?"

They met eyes again, Rantaro looking more relaxed than before - and just a little excited. There was a subtle sparkle to his eye that hadn't been there before.

"Oh, you know. Sleepover stuff."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> releasing chapter 17 and 18 together baby!!!! sleepover time!!!


	18. New look

Nobody touched Korekiyo's hair. Nobody.

Not a single soul had since Sister had passed. Not any family members, no colleages, not even a friendly pat on the head by an elderly passerby. Hairdressers had since been forbidden, the anthropologist having to take up trimming it himself at home. Long story short, his hair was precious, for it was not only his hair, but Sister's hair as well.

Therefore, when Rantaro suggested they do each other's hair, his anxiety found itself skyrocketing.

Korekiyo knew that the man meant no ill will; it wasn't as if he shared such personal feelings with others. For whatever reason, the thought of someone touching his hair frightened him more than having to undo his bandages for access to doing each other’s nails instead. The imperfections and marred surface of his skin were his own fault, with no attachment to Sister. But his hair... That was hers. 

Why did the thought make his heart sink?

Too polite to decline, or perhaps too frightened for whatever reason his anxieties had yet to conjure up, the anthropologist sat on the floor with his hands in his lap whilst Rantaro rummaged for something or other. His bony fingers tapped against his shin almost aggressively, teeth chewing on the inside of his lip. Korekiyo felt a bit foolish, for he had spent quite a bit of time on things such as meditation, self assurance, and calming one's mind; yet there he sat, nervous energy threatening to burst out of him like a cracking dam.

"Here we go," Rantaro suddenly remarked. While the television quietly played a random animated film he had chosen, it had melded into background noise. It made his voice seem much louder than it actually was to Korekiyo, for he jumped in surprise at the sound. Rantaro sat down across from him and placed two bags down between them.

"Nail bag," he said, pointing to one before making his finger hover over the other, "and hair bag. I haven't used the hair one in a while, so I don't remember what all is in it."

If Korekiyo kept quiet, he would only appear suspicious. Ceasing his fidgeting and balling his hands in his lap tightly, he casually replied, "I had no idea that the warehouse held so much. I take it that you did this sort of thing with your sisters often?"

"Was it that obvious?" his friend replied with a lopsided grin. "But yeah. I know it's probably considered weird for a guy to be into this stuff, but what can I say? It's fun. So which do you want to do first?"

Whatever would prolong the inevitable, Korekiyo thought to himself. "I've only really had practice with long hair, but I'm happy to start things off if you'd like."

"Works for me," replied Rantaro, to his relief. The man scooted around where he sat until his back was to Korekiyo, resting his hands behind him on the floor. "Feel free to use whatever you want in the bag; I'm up for anything."

As his fingers moved from his lap over to the bag in question, meticulously tugging the zipper up and over, a noise on the television brought his eye up to it. The main character (he presumed) was laughing, face expressive and eyes sparkling with delight. Korekiyo himself hadn't watched many movies - let alone animated ones. He hadn't had the time to do so for so long; work, school, and his daily routine kept him top preoccupied to engage in anything that deviated from the norm.

Was that strange?

He refocused his gaze on the contents of the bag before him. It held colorful assorted clips, holders, bands, glitter, and so on. Nothing particularly jumped out at him; he was more skilled with using his hands alone. Korekiyo's hands raised, but then stalled a few inches away from Rantaro's head.

"I'm a touch rusty," he spoke up, swallowing down his anxieties and extending his fingers. He could not feel Rantaro's hair as the verdant strands slid over the covered digits, which helped him relax a tad. "But I believe I remember the basics."

Korekiyo's fingers were moving almost on instinct, as if they were happy to have a medium to work with once again. Locks of Rantaro's hair were quickly interwoven between them, coming together to form a decently sized braid to expand across the width of the man's head. "Am I pulling too tight?"

"No; it's great," replied Rantaro, whom gave a light chuckle after the fact. "It's nice having my hair done after doing it myself for so long. It feels like you know what you're doing back there."

"I often helped Sister with her hair," the anthropologist replied as another lock slid over his index finger. "I eventually had to once her sickness progressed. Doing it every morning made for good practice, I suppose."

Rantaro didn't reply immediately, but then he said with a small smile in his voice, "Guess that's why yours is always so nice looking. Seriously, how do you avoid tangles? I'm scared to grow mine out longer than where it is now."

"Patience and practice," replied Korekiyo. "Especially when this place has a lack of decent hair care products..."

He cinched the braid firmly against Rantaro's head, but a good amount of hair still remained on the top half. After a few seconds of pondering, he shifted to one side and bunched a chunk of it up in his hand. "It's an absolute mess in the mornings, however... I'm incredibly sorry in advance in the event that you witness it tomorrow."

Rantaro chuckled again, seeming just a touch less tense than before. "Don't worry about it, Kiyo. There's no judging here."

The two sat in silence for a few moments after that. Korekiyo's first attempt at a bun didn't go over very well, and so he tried once again, a hair band now resting between his teeth. The television quietly played the film he occasionally glanced up at, taking note of how the story had progressed.

Rantaro suddenly spoke up. "... Hey, Kiyo? Is it alright if I ask about your sister?"

Surely he felt the man's hands stall against his scalp at the question. Korekiyo himself couldn't fathom why it startled him so, but he saw no reason to decline. "Of... course. I would offer for you to speak to her, but..."

"It's alright," replied Rantaro. "Are there any questions you're uncomfortable with? I just want to make sure."

He pondered this briefly. "I'd request that you don't ask about her death or sickness; it's still... fresh in my mind."

"Of course," he quickly replied. Silence fell between them again as Korekiyo got back to work on the leftmost bun. Again, he failed, having to ball the hair back up once more. At last, Rantaro asked, "What was she like?"

While Korekiyo did not care for the use of past tense, as if she was not in fact present with them (even if she was avoiding it), he found himself sighing with longing at the memories that came to mind. "Oh, in life... she was wonderful. Her smile was so warm it could melt the coldest of hearts... and she was smart, as well; she'd talk about the most fascinating things..."

At last, the first bun was complete. Korekiyo reached into the bag between his knees and pulled out another hairtie, keeping it between his fingers. As he got to work on the other side of Rantaro's head, he continued. "I don't remember if I've mentioned it, but she's the reason I picked up anthropology. She always wanted to learn, you see, but couldn't once she was bedridden. I read her books and she suggested I go to college for it... and here I am."

"Hope's Peak's proclaimed ultimate anthropologist," Rantaro finished for him. After a beat of silence, he proposed another question. "What do you like to do besides anthropology? Do you have any hobbies or anything?"

"Oh, I scarcely have the time," replied Korekiyo, sliding the pink elastic over the man's hair. "I enjoy cooking, and I've had an interest in gardening before, but... I have better things to do than that." 

Rantaro took note of how Korekiyo's voice had faltered. His curiosity was present at the forefront of his mind, but he also knew that this was something he had to tackle in very cautious, short steps. "Did your sister like to garden?"

"No, no... it was never her forte," Korekiyo replied. "She herself didn't have many hobbies because she simply couldn’t indulge. Oftentimes I read to her instead of the other way around! She would tire herself out trying, the poor thing."

A silence filled the room despite the fact that nothing particularly shocking had been said. Even so, Rantaro’s brow was creased and his hands quietly fidgeted in his lap, grateful that Korekiyo couldn’t see him. Too many assumptions were coming to the forefront about what was going on with Kiyo, but he couldn’t confirm any of them quite yet. 

It was difficult when all he wanted to do was help him - yet, he knew that he didn’t have the capacity to heal wounds so deep that not even Korekiyo could notice the scars. 

“I think that’s about all I can do for the time being,” his guest spoke up, startling Rantaro out of his thoughts. “It’s a bit feminine; I hope you don’t mind.”

“I never do,” replied Rantaro as he pushed himself up to his feet. He looked down at Korekiyo to give him a thumbs up before walking to the bathroom. It was odd still, seeing Korekiyo without his go-to ensemble. Hopefully it hadn’t shown on his face.

The second he caught his reflection, Rantaro found himself smiling. His hair was done up in cute, petite buns on either side of his head, any extra length having been braided around the circumference of his head. His fingers slid over the texture of said braid, the young man calling out, “I love it! Never tried buns before.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” replied Korekiyo as Rantaro stepped back in, still feeling around on his head. “It’s really nothing special, honestly.”

“It’s special because you’re the one that did it,” grinned Rantaro. “So… you’ve got a lot more hair than me, so I’ll probably go nuts. You ready?”

Rantaro instantly took note of the hesitation on Korekiyo’s face as he glanced down to his lap. As his thick, dark locks fell around his eyes, he took one in his bandaged hand and somewhat anxiously ran his fingers through it. “I…”

His response was quick. “If you’re not comfortable with it, we don’t have to. Lots of things to do at a sleepover.” 

Before he could wonder why Korekiyo had suddenly grown timid, the anthropologist replied, “I’m sorry; nobody has ever… touched my hair. Only Sister did that - and myself, of course.”

As Korekiyo let strands of hair fall through his fingers and down onto his shoulder, he did not look up from his lap. Rantaro, after a few seconds of pondering, crouched down to eye level, arms resting over his knees. When Korekiyo hesitantly glanced at him from the corner of his eye, Rantaro smiled.

“I’m not gonna ask you to do anything you don’t want to, Kiyo,” he carefully spoke. “But… Maybe change could be good. Whether it’s by my hand or yours; it’s whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Korekiyo visibly swallowed, looking down once more. His voice had taken on a quiet, hesitant tone - it was reminiscent of the day he’d found him in the dining hall. “I don’t want to upset her any further; if I’m not presentable, I’m disappointing her…”

It took every muscle in Rantaro’s body not to frown at his companion’s words. What had this woman done to Korekiyo? Had she gone so far as to govern what he looked like every day? Was that why he wore the uniform all the time? To “honor” her?

Ignoring the pit in his stomach, Rantaro inhaled, exhaled, and attempted to channel the friendly, brotherly energies he’d used in the past to help calm people down. “Kiyo… there’s no one way to be presentable. Wouldn’t your sister want what’s best for you?”

“Of course,” the man quickly replied, head raising to meet Rantaro’s gaze once more. “Of course she would; she’s helped me so much and kept me from wandering astray…”

“Variety is good,” Rantaro urged. “Healthy, even. You don’t think less of me for wearing my pajamas tonight instead of my normal shirt and jeans, do you?”

“What? Of course not,” Korekiyo replied, visibly confused. “You’re still… well, you. A change of clothes doesn’t modify who you are as a human.”

“And my hair?” his friend continued, raising a hand to lightly bat at one of his buns with a finger. “You don’t see me as unpresentable or weird with these, yeah?”

“Well, no; that’s…”

Korekiyo trailed off as Rantaro’s brows raised upward, not saying anything as his arm fell back down over his knee. He didn’t  _ need _ to say anything.

He could tell that realization hit Korekiyo, for the man’s cheeks had flushed with embarrassment as he quickly looked down at his lap yet again. Just as Rantaro inhaled to reassure him once more, he was interrupted. 

“Just…” Korekiyo started, fidgeting with the ends of his hair, “please be careful with it… please.”

They met eyes again, Korekiyo looking more than a little anxious. For heaven’s sakes, it looked like he was on the verge of tears. Rantaro, trying as best as he always did to be reassuring, only smiled and moved his legs to sit down crisscross on the carpet. “I wouldn’t be anything but.”

Though he still appeared hesitant, Korekiyo shifted until he sat in front of Rantaro with his back to him. Though he tried to straighten his posture, his anxieties seemed to be relentless in making sure his shoulders were hunched - as if trying to protect himself. 

Rantaro did not know what had happened to Korekiyo, exactly. His sister had hurt him; she had damaged him so very much, even to the point where he felt as if his hair was not his own. Not his hair, his wardrobe, his face - anything. The man’s heart broke at the thought of whether or not Korekiyo even truly knew who he was, or if he ever had a chance to.

When Rantaro reached into the hair supply bag and pulled out a brush, he took hold of a lock of Korekiyo’s hair in his palm. The man before him physically started, and a hand peaked around to show that he was hugging himself. 

“Kiyo?” Rantaro asked, his movements stalling entirely. “Are you sure this is alright?”

A beat of silence. Two. Then, “... Yes. I…” The grip on Korekiyo’s arms grew a bit tighter, covered fingers digging into the fabric resting there. “I trust… that you won’t harm me.”

_ Trust _ . For whatever reason, it surprised him that he gained Korekiyo of all people’s trust. The cynic in him wondered if it was a good thing at all, but the thought was quickly stomped out. Carefully, he ran the brush down through the man’s long, sleek hair, releasing an exhale he hoped Korekiyo couldn’t hear. 

It was quiet as Rantaro worked the brush through Korekiyo’s hair. Unsurprisingly, it was completely free of tangles, but with how  _ much _ of it he had, he wanted to make absolutely sure. As he mentally went through a checklist of things he could do with it, he noticed that Korekiyo’s hands had slid down his arms and currently rested at his elbows.

Perhaps a braid was in order, he thought to himself as he placed the brush down. Taking hold of the hair before him, he effortlessly separated it into three sections and got to work. Even though the film from before still played on the television, the silence was getting to be a bit much. Rantaro knew that he would be the only one to break the silence first. 

“So what other things do you like?” he spoke up, noting that Korekiyo had visibly started ever so slightly at the sudden words. “Like gardening. If you had free time to try something new, what would it be?”

“Well…” Korekiyo inhaled, his exhale a bit shakier. “I would like to experiment with cooking more. While I know many ethnic recipes, I’ve never really had the time to practice them. Oh, and…” He halted, voice growing quiet once more. “Never mind. It’s foolish.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, whatever it is,” Rantaro replied as he slid one thick lock of hair over the other. “I don’t think any activity can be ‘foolish’ if it isn’t hurting anyone.”

He shook his head, but not enough to throw Rantaro off-kilter with his braiding progress. “I really don’t want to upset Sister further. It’s… makeup. I’ve always found the medium fascinating because I don’t have much of a hand for painting. But… I see no need to change things up when I’m already presentable enough. I don’t want to risk-”

“Hey,” Rantaro gently interrupted, “remember what we just talked about? About changing up your hair and clothes? The same can be said for makeup, you know.”

While Korekiyo had initially tensed, the tightness of his shoulders visibly loosened, if only a bit. “I… I suppose you’re right. I know that change is a good thing; especially as an anthropologist. It’s my job to study how humans and the things they associate with change over time.”

“So why couldn’t  _ you? _ ” Rantaro asked with a lopsided smile, even though Korekiyo couldn’t see it. “Changing yourself up from time to time might help you see life in a new light. Like… a lighter one. I dye my hair different colors every few years or get a new piercing once in a while. I know it sounds sort of weird, but it can help refresh stuff. It does for me, anyway.” He found himself chuckling as he held the loose, thick braid in place whilst he rummaged around in the hair bag for a tie. “But I don’t recommend getting too many piercings. I think I’m getting addicted to them.”

While his friend was quiet for a moment or so after that, at last he replied as Rantaro secured his hair, “Perhaps some day. Hair… is a good start. Maybe.”

“I think so too.” His hands released from Korekiyo’s hair at last, smiling at the sight. “I think I’m done back here, but I’ve got an idea or two for the bangs if you don’t mind facing me for it.”

One of Korekiyo’s hands snaked around to run his covered fingers over the braid. “Oh, my; that’s… different. Oh - right.” Carefully, he turned himself around on the carpet until he was facing Rantaro, bangs draped over his face and hands in his lap. 

Rantaro had since rummaged about in the supply bag for some hair clips, picking a handful of red flower-themed ones to use, even if they looked a bit cheap. With a chuckle, he raised a hand and carefully nudged the long black locks out of Korekiyo’s eyes. “This won’t take… long.”

He hadn’t intended for his words to trail off, but one couldn’t help it upon finding that the man before them held bloodshot, watery eyes. While he was not crying presently, it was evident that he had been fighting it. 

After weighing his options, Rantaro smiled gently and moved to clip up one side of Korekiyo’s bangs. “I’ll tell you what. What about after this, we eat a bunch of snacks and pass out, and tomorrow we can make crepes for breakfast or something. Do you like crepes?”

Korekiyo hesitated. “... I do, yes. Though I’ve only made them twice…”

“I’ve only made them never,” Rantaro offered with a humored smile. “So it’ll be a learning experience. That too tight?”

“N-no, it’s fine,” he replied as his companion reached for another clip, which rested upon his knee. “I apologize; I’ve, ah… I’m not used to this sort of thing. Am I moving too much?”

“Nope.” Rantaro kept the friendly smile on his face as he moved the second half of Korekiyo’s bangs to the side, securing them in place. For the most part, he was done, but then he reached forward and carefully curled a thin stray lock around his finger before letting go, creating a subtle curl in the middle. “There you go. Wanna go look?”

Korekiyo seemed to have forgotten that standing up was an option, for it took him a few seconds to gather his bearings and stand. Hands clasped in front of him, he cautiously walked to the bathroom and disappeared around the door.

Silence followed. It lingered for what felt like minutes upon minutes, and for a brief moment, Rantaro feared that it had somehow upset the man. But then Korekiyo emerged from the room, hands at his chest and his lips curled upward in the smallest, self indulgent smile. “I… I like it a lot, Rantaro. Thank you.”

Rantaro smiled and gave him a thumbs up in response. “How’s about those snacks, then? We can do nails some other time; it’s not like this is the only sleepover we’ll ever have.”

“Really?” Korekiyo asked, stopping where he stood at the foot of the bed. “You would… ask me here again?”

“Well, yeah.” His smile was genuine, and for perhaps the first time, so was Korekiyo’s. The anthropologist was still visibly anxious and a little tense, his smile obviously taking a bit of effort to indulge in. But this was a start. It was a good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so desperate to write gay shit that them touching each other's hair nearly sent me into cardiac arrest


	19. Revelations

"The next floor is open?"

Korekiyo still wasn't all that comfortable with coming down to the dining hall after all that had happened, so Rantaro had taken it upon himself to whip up a quick breakfast to bring back to the dorm. The anthropologist had been asleep when he left, looking more peaceful than he'd ever seen him.

"It's been open for a couple of days, yeah," replied Shuichi, whom he had found at the dining table with a cup of cocoa and a toaster strudel. He had since followed Rantaro into the kitchen to keep the conversation flowing. "I just couldn't find where some of the pieces fit. You, uh... well, died before the other times this happened, but the monokubs always give us these vague items and tell us to go find out what rooms they open."

"Everything's a game to them, I guess," Rantaro commented, nudging the eggs upon the pan and flipping them over. "So what did you find up there?"

Shuichi quickly swallowed the sip of cocoa he had taken whilst Rantaro talked. "Mine and Tsumugi’s labs, for one thing; mine looks like it's straight out of a Sherlock Holmes novel..." He gave a shake of his head. "But it's the third one we found that confused me. I... I think it might be yours?"

Orange cheese and pepper strips were sprinkled onto the flat, eggy surface before Rantaro folded it over. "What makes you say that?"

"It doesn't really seem to fit any of the other people here," Shuichi replied with a small shrug. "Maybe it would give you a hint to your Ultimate, if not a full answer."

"Well, what's in it?" The man asked with a quirked brow. "Nothing weird, I hope."

Shuichi hesitated, for whatever reason. "I opened the door and there was... a tree. I think. I didn't go any further inside. Did you used to plant trees or anything?"

Rantaro gave the omelet a flip. "Not unless you count the one I helped plant in my family's backyard when I was sixteen. I don't know why it would be a tree of all things, but I'll check it out." He paused. "After breakfast."

His companion gave him a smile, though it grew lopsided after a few short seconds. "How, uh... how is Korekiyo? Have you talked to him?"

Rantaro reached for two more eggs to crack just as the omelet was taken off of the pan and slid onto a plate. He tapped them against the sides and let them fall onto the sizzling surface, the whites happily bubbling at the edges. "He's, uh... well, he's getting better; its just a slow process. He was going to cook breakfast with me, but I think he's just hesitant to come to the school building. After everything that's happened with him, I think he's just hesitant to be around anyone for a little while."

While Shuichi opened his mouth to reply, he quickly closed it with a frown. After rephrasing his thoughts, he once again attempted to speak. "I understand, yeah. But... I think that maybe socializing would be healthy for everyone involved. Not immediately or anything, obviously, but... you know. Eventually. Otherwise things might just keep getting tense."

"No, I agree; trust me," replied Rantaro, though his gaze was firmly on the eggs to ensure they didn't overcook. After a few seconds of silence, he moved to flip it over. "And I think he can; its just sensitive right now, I guess. I'll see if I can talk to him; can't stay in his dorm forever."

"Yeah... I'm sure things will work out either way." Shuichi watched as Rantaro placed some cheese and chopped vegetables on one side of the omelet, the smell irresistible even to him, who had just eaten. Suddenly, he started in place and his head lifted to look at Rantaro once again. "Oh, did anyone tell you about the Monokuma thing?"

Rantaro slid the second omelet onto a separate plate and moved over to the fridge. "Unless you're talking about the motive? No."

"Supposedly," Shuichi elaborated, "someone dropped something on Monokuma a couple of nights ago and almost broke him. It was probably done by an upper floor window while Monokuma was out for... whatever reason."

After a brief pause, Rantaro emerged from the fridge with a large covered bowl in his hands. "You think that might be why he announced the motive over the monitors instead of in the gym?"

"It would make sense," Shuichi replied with a nod. "There's only a couple of people that I can think of that would do it, but even then, I can't figure out why..."

The door to the kitchen opened just as Rantaro had begun to scoop assorted chopped fruit onto the plates. Maki stepped inside and made a beeline to the fridge, though stalled when she saw Rantaro. The two met eyes, but he was the one to ultimately break the silence. "Hey, Maki."

"... Hi." The woman ceased her glare and moved back to the fridge, opening it and peering at its contents. "Do you know if theres an ice pack here anywhere?"

The last piece of fruit was placed upon his and his companion's plates as Rantaro replied, "Check the big freezer; there might be something there. Is everything alright?"

"Not sure why you would ask something like that," she replied flatly, briskly striding over to the larger freezer and opening its double doors. "In broad terms, of course not. But in personal ones... I just need an ice pack. That's all."

"I can make you one," offered Shuichi, already moving over to join her. "My mom used to make them whenever I fell over and scraped my knee or something." 

"I'd appreciate it," she replied, almost kindly. Rantaro was still plating up the food (as a last minute decision, he thought that the omelets could use a little bit of garnish) and keeping to himself as best as he could despite the feeling of eyes boring into his back. Against his better judgement, he felt his shoulders tense at the sensation, which she obviously noticed.

"Do you want to die?"

Rantaro stalled mid-pepper shake, slowly turning his head to look at the woman. Maki, however, appeared nonplussed - that was, until she fully took in his expression and glanced to the side. "Sorry," she quickly said. "Force of habit."

"Ah... it's fine," he replied with a small wave of his hand (which resulted in a bit of pepper sprinkling onto the floor, unfortunately). "But uh... mind if I ask why you're staring at me?"

Maki waited. She folded her arms, looked over at Shuichi fixing the iice pack, and then back to Rantaro. Her head listed upwards ever so slightly, expression blank yet calculating. "I'm just wondering why you're associating with Korekiyo. That's all."

While Shuichi and Rantaro shared a brief look, the latter seemed to be unbothered. The man gave a small, one shouldered shrug as he replied, "I don't see why I wouldn't. We're all stuck here together."

"But he's killed people," Maki deadpanned. "Multiple people. Obviously he enjoys it, too. I just don't understand why you're making breakfast for a serial killer."

It wasn't Rantaro's business to share what he knew or assumed about Korekiyo or what he had been through, and he knew it. Instead, he turned back to his food, giving the pepper container exactly two shakes over the omelet. "You're an assassin, and I don't mind being around you."

"There's a difference," she quickly replied, "and you don't go out of your way to talk to me or have meals with me."

Rantaro set the plates and bowls of fruit on a serving tray, picking it up with a bit of effort and turning to face Maki once more. "I don't know. Korekiyo seems like he's been through a lot and that he needs someone to talk to."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're an idiot then."

"Maybe I am one," replied Rantaro as he stepped past her and to the open door of the kitchen. "But I know he wouldn't kill me. I can promise both of us that."

"Don't promise me; promise yourself!" Maki called after him, but either he was out of ear range or decided against replying to her. The woman let out a subdued, short sigh, arms folding tighter against her chest.

"I know it's crazy, but I do think he's doing the right thing." Shuichi stepped up beside her, a bag of ice covered in an old kitchen towel resting in his hands. "I've seen Kiyo at his worst; something is… well, definitely wrong there. Maybe having someone to talk to is all he needs." He smiled then. "I mean, talking to you helps, right?"

The assassin was silent for a good few seconds before her hand whipped out, taking the covered bag in his arms in a flash. "I'd prefer not to be compared to a serial killer."

"That isn't what I-"

"I know." Maki sighed again, short and annoyed - but entirely at herself rather than Shuichi. “I know. Thank you for the ice.” Without another word, she stepped out, leaving the detective alone.

* * *

The leftmost door slid open, Tsumugi stepping through and releasing a sigh that was a bit too dramatic to be genuine. Resting her hands on her hips, she mused aloud to no one in particular, “Isn’t it about time a murder happened?”

“Later,” grumbled a voice from the computer desk. “Lunch first.”

The only person inside at the moment was the masked observer that seemed to never leave the desk chair surrounding the copious monitors. However, he wasn’t wearing his mask now, a pair of round glasses balancing over his nose. He speared what appeared to be a chunk of watermelon with a fork and placed it in his mouth as Tsumugi stepped further inside, looking around with confusion. “Where are the others?”

“Cooking and nap; wasn’t paying attention to who was doing what,” the man replied. “What do you want?”

She found herself frowning over at him, but her technician was nonplussed as he unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and took a long sip. “Well, what’s everyone doing, then? You’d think someone would be planning something by now.”

After wiping his mouth with a napkin, he sighed and tapped a key on his desk. “Rantaro and Korekiyo are heading to the next floor, uh…” He squinted at another monitor. “Looks like Maki and Kaito are together again with Shuichi on the way, don’t know where Ouma is, but that’s a given-”

“Why do they always have to be together?” Tsumugi interrupted with a frown, both hands pressing against the desk as she looked at the camera following the first two he’d mentioned. “I don’t get it. What does Rantaro have to gain?”

“I don’t really care,” the man deadpanned, snaking a hand out to tug a snack bag away from where her rightmost hand rested. Opening it, he added, “Maybe they’re planning a murder, which is what you want to hear, right?”

Tsumugi huffed, turning her head to him. As her hair fell over her shoulder and started to drape across the desk, he lurched his hand forward again to move yet another container of food before it could make contact. “Of course I don’t; then Rantaro would be gone all over again. Not that he would ever have the guts to kill someone…”

“Again,” he said, reaching into the bag resting in his lap and pulling out a red gummy bear, “I don’t care.”

Again, she huffed, much shorter this time, and stood up straight once more. “How are the rest of the execution machines coming along?”

“Considering Emi came in and almost collapsed before we could drag her to her room,” the man replied, observing the sweet in his fingers, “I don’t think it matters right now.”

He popped it into his mouth just as Tsumugi frowned yet again and asked pointedly, “We have to be on top of things; why can’t she recycle parts from the ones that weren’t ever used?”

“She _does_ ,” he replied pointedly. “And before she can even finish one, sometimes that person dies and she has to start all over. _Really_ wish we had someone else who could help.”

“Why don’t the others, then?” she asked with a little scowl. “If they have enough time to nap and cook, they have enough time to help with the machines-”

“Tsumugi,” he interrupted, the very act of which befuddling her, “as much as you probably want us to be, we’re not machines. We’re low on money, we’re working with what we have, and you should be fucking grateful that we’re able to keep this shit in one piece.” He popped another bear in his mouth and chewed. “God, I wonder if it’s worth it half the time.”

If anything was going to set her off, it was the last remark. The woman’s posture straightened, hands balling into fists at her sides. “Of course it is; how dare you insinuate otherwise? This is what Junko would have wanted - actually, what she would have wanted was more than this-”

“What part of ‘we’re doing the best we can’ don’t you understand?!” he barked, interrupting yet again. “There aren’t a bunch of us running around anymore, Junko’s not here, and it’s just the five of us! So stop pretending that you’re her and act like one of us for once.” He turned back to his food, pulling his knees up to his chest and balancing an onigiri packet on one of them. “Piss off and let me finish my lunch. It’s the only break I get anymore.”

Tsumugi was frozen in place, jaw dropped and fumbling for any sort of response. Footsteps alerted her attention to the southern door, but she was already turning and walking away.

“Mugi?” asked a timid voice, trying to speak a bit louder as she called after her, “we made some-”

The door slammed shut behind the woman, leaving the three alone. The one who had spoken was already on the verge of tears, but the man at the computer desk waved his hand nonchalantly and remarked, “She’s just gonna go throw a temper tantrum and be back to normal eventually.”

“What happened?” she asked as she placed a small tray of tea upon a coffee table inside. Taking the other tray - this one with little sandwiches and cut up fruit - from her companion, she placed it down alongside the first. “I haven’t seen her that mad in a long time…”

“Something about wanting there to be a murder already and getting pissed off when I told her Emi needs a break,” he replied, biting into his food and chewing. “Same old same old.”

As the other two sat down to enjoy their lunch, the technician was too preoccupied with his own snacks to realize that a specific monitor was growing much more intriguing than the others. Upon it, Rantaro and Korekiyo were conversing, heading up the staircase to the fifth floor.

* * *

“I find myself very curious about what your ultimate talent could be the closer we get,” Korekiyo mused aloud. It was around one in the afternoon then; the two had eaten breakfast and gone their separate ways that morning, only to meet up again in the courtyard later on. Rantaro had offered for Korekiyo to come along before heading to his newly opened laboratory, and the man had agreed. 

Rantaro had his hands leisurely resting behind his head as he walked, and as he’d come to realize, appeared much more casual than his companion. As usual. Nobody had mentioned anything yet, but he could assume. “I have no idea based on what Shuichi told me. He just said he saw a tree or a bush or something, but I don’t feel very much like a gardener.”

“Perhaps… Ultimate Hedge Trimmer,” said Korekiyo, eyes slightly crinkling at the corners to signify that he was smiling behind the mask. “I only tease. Truth be told, I’m as unsure as you are.” His line of sight shifted over to the foremost door. “Is that it over there?”

“Looks like it; either that or Shuichi’s,” his companion replied. The two approached, and Rantaro rested his hand over the doorknob. For whatever reason, he hesitated. There was nothing to be afraid of, really, but something about being presented with a fact about himself that even _he_ didn’t know intimidated him. Well, perhaps not intimidated. It downright frightened him.

Rantaro turned the knob and pulled it open. Indeed, what greeted him was an array of leaves, though a quick brush of his hand proved them to be fake. He took a step inside and held his breath without realizing it, taking in the interior.

The lab may as well have been a survival goods store on a smaller scale. Backpacks, food rations, tools, and anything an adventurer could have asked for at his disposal. Things like tent kits and rocks also resided, and even an incredibly small pool surrounded by stones and more fake plants rested in the corner.

“Rantaro?”

The tone of Korekiyo’s voice caught him off guard. It was cracked, worried, and on edge. Instantly, the man turned his head.

His stomach dropped to his shoes.

The first thing Rantaro noticed was blood on the ground, seeping into the floorboards of the lab. The second, tent equipment and what appeared to be a rack of tools on the ground, both scattered as if they’d fallen all of a sudden. The third was the all too familiar chime of the monitors throughout the school.

_“A body has been discovered!”_

A tomahawk was in his abdomen. A pole embedded in his left shoulder. Blood speckled around his mouth and collar, staining his white shirt dark red.

_“Everyone, please gather at the Ultimate Adventurer’s lab on the fifth floor!”_

Kaito Momota lay dead on the floor, his mouth open, unmoving. His wish to see the stars would never be fulfilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys so updates have been slow but im pretty much almost always working on the fic. im fixating on other things and the urge to work on this comes in spurts every couple of weeks so :') if i ever have to go on an actual hiatus or anything i'll post about it here so dont worry this fic isnt anywhere near done
> 
> haha major character death machine go brr


	20. Investigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise bitch. i bet you thought you'd seen the last of me

A lot of things were happening at once - or what felt like all at once. All of the sounds around Rantaro had blurred into muffled incoherent nonsense, and attempting to focus on any in particular made him want to hit something. He didn't even know _why._

He had since fallen to his knees, hands trembling upon them. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen a body before; Angie's was fresh in his mind, and flashes of Miu's execution still refused to leave his nightmares. Something about Kaito's dead, lifeless body before him was just the straw that broke the camel's back.

A scream rung out from the crowd, jolting Rantaro's senses into reality long enough to pay attention. It hadn't been a scream, per se, but a loud, desperate demand. " _GET OUT!_ "

Maki sat by Kaito's corpse, his limp head in her lap. Blood speckled around his mouth, eyes thankfully closed. Though she was not crying, Maki looked stone cold, as if she could and would kill anyone who took a step closer. Both Shuichi and Gonna stood nearby, initially having moved forward to help in some way. Obviously, their help wasn't wanted.

Rantaro's monopad beeped in his pocket, but he hardly noticed. The Monokuma File must have just been sent out to everyone for proper investigation, which meant that the timer had officially started. Whenever the bear felt bored enough, he would call everyone to trial, and someone else would die. The cycle would not be allowed to end just yet.

"Nobody is allowed to touch him," said Maki. The tone of her voice made it obvious that what she said was _not_ up for debate. " _I'll_ investigate the body. We can't allow any mistakes."

Shuichi's voice was strained. "Maki-"

"I said _get out_." Her response was targeted at Shuichi, but also at everyone else in the room as well. The problem was that Rantaro wasn't sure if he could stand anymore. Becoming one with the moss upon the floorboards sounded much more inviting. 

A thin hand was placed gingerly on the man's shoulder, jolting him so much that he visibly started. When he looked over his shoulder, Korekiyo was still there, brows creased with worry. Not at the body, but at his friend. He looked like he wanted to say something - to provide advice or help or anything resembling comfort - but something held his tongue. Both of them knew that his input was the last anyone else needed at the moment.

"Who would kill Kaito?" Gonta asked in a weary, watery voice. A sniff came from the man as he reached up to rub at his eyes, though his efforts were in vain. More and more tears trickled down the entomologist's cheeks as Rantaro felt his own eyes water. Nobody with a soul as kind as Gonta's should ever be put into a situation such as this, thought Rantaro. Seeing death so frequently, witnessing people kill out of pure desperation - it would wear anyone down. It was incredible that any of them were standing at all.

Except Maki. One of her paled hands rested upon Kaito's forehead, pinky finger absentmindedly shifting over and brushing against a lock of his purple hair. Her expression was cold, distant, not entirely there. However, even if her mind was elsewhere, her voice was front and present. Again, she commanded, "Get. _Out._ "

Korekiyo gently tugged on his companions shoulder to urge him out the door. Somehow, Rantaro found the strength in his legs to move them back and turn around, stepping out of the lab. Everyone else followed, though Shuichi did not join them. The door was closed behind them all shortly after.

The hand had been removed, but Rantaro doubted that he would fare much better even if it still laid there. Nobody moved as they awkwardly stood about, staying a bit distant from each other.

"Weird how Monokuma hasn't shown up," muttered Ouma with a scoff under his breath. His hand raised to scratch under his nose as he looked to the side, "Guess Maki scared him off. So! Hurry up and confess; which one of you was it?"

"Not Gonta!" the man in question quickly replied, holding up his hands for emphasis. "Gonta would never, and even if did, it would be accident!"

The teenager lazily looked over to the man, his head having to crane upwards quite a bit to meet his eye, and he promptly smirked. "Suspect number one. The first person to get defensive is immediately suspicious!"

Gonta paled, his hands beginning to tremble as they lingered in the air. Tsumugi frowned where she stood, hands folded in front of herself. "Please, let's not throw accusations around… right now we have to investigate and bring justice to Kaito. Or else he might come back as a vengeful spirit!"

"This isn't a stupid anime!" barked Ouma all of a sudden, his narrowed gaze focused on her. "This is a killing game, and I'm sick and fucking tired of being surrounded by _idiots!_ "

"Then go yell about it somewhere else!" came Himiko's unexpected response, hands balled to her fists. She was scowling tightly even as her lower lip trembled from the effort. "Just go; nobody wants you here!"

"Kitty's got claws? Who taught you _that_ magic trick?" Ouma snorted, stepping up towards the witch and making her flinch at the sudden approach. He'd just inhaled to speak, hands raising presumably to push her, when Korekiyo broke the tension with his own words.

"We need to start the investigation," he calmly said, everyone turning their heads to look at him. Their expressions, save for Rantaro's, seemed to convey that they forgot he was even there. "Like Tsumugi said, we can argue at the trial. Perhaps we can split up into groups; it's easier to cover ground that way."

"I'm not going anywhere with him," Himiko muttered under her breath, hands having since raised to take hold of both sides of her hat. Two hands gingerly took hold of the girl's shoulders from behind. When she started and looked up and over her shoulder, she found Kiibo, who had been quiet until then. His lips were pursed, staring down at nothing in particular.

Head lifting to finally meet the eyes of his companions, he released a small huff and said, "I'll go with Himiko. We can work on covering the courtyard for clues. There may not be anything there, but it warrants searching for the sake of being thorough."

The witch seemed to be on the verge of arguing, but seemed to not have the strength to follow through. Instead, she folded her arms over her chest, looking down. It wasn't as if her other options would be as amicable.

Not waiting for a farewell, Kiibo released his hands from the girl's shoulders and extended a single one for her to take. Himiko visibly hesitated for one, then two beats, but then placed her own small one upon the robot's palm. They walked off, the group watching until they descended the stairway and were out of sight.

"I'll go with Ouma," said Rantaro with a lopsided smile and a gravelly tone to his voice that he was desperately trying to hide. Even with his stiff posture and his hands balled into fists at his side, he continued to speak. "Keeps him out of trouble that way."

"But if Gonta go with Tsumugi," Gonta spoke up, brows knit with slight worry as a hand raised to hover before him, "who Korekiyo go with? Shuichi inside…"

"No sense in wasting time." Korekiyo's stance was as stiff as ever, hands folded firmly behind his back. "I can explore by myself."

The group was about to disperse, though Rantaro spoke up just as Gonta and Tsumugi had turned to leave, "Kiyo, why don't you come with us?" Glancing down to Ouma, he added with a lopsided smile, "If he tries to run, it's two people versus one teenager. We can take care of that, hm?"

Before Ouma could form a response, Korekiyo had already stepped over with a hidden smile of relief. "I would enjoy that. Perhaps we can keep him out of trouble."

The anthropologist absentmindedly glanced up and over to the duo about to leave, silently taking note of Tsumugi's stiff posture. She had stalled a bit, Gonta's head turned towards her with a look of confusion. As soon as the odd display came, it left, and she continued forward - this time ahead of her companion. 

"... Everyone appears very stressed," said Korekiyo shortly after the three had begun to walk. "And before you observe that I'm just stating the obvious, I'm well aware. It's just interesting to see how this situation has brought so many hidden emotions to the forefront."

"Stop acting like we're lab rats," Ouma quipped as he folded his arms over his chest. "Why are you even _trying_ at this point?"

"Ouma." Rantaro's tone was nothing short of something akin to a disappointed mother, his lips pressing into a small frown. "Kiyo is just making an observation. He wants to survive just like the rest of us." 

The three reached the staircase leading down, beginning their descent. Rantaro continued, "The best we can do is keep an eye on each other and try to prevent… what just happened." He shook his head. "I can't imagine anyone here killing someone."

The young man walking between them released a derisive snort of a laugh. "Even _now_ , you're saying that? That shit is going to get you killed." He paused. "Again. But thats the fucking problem! Everyone here is so busy trying to be all buddy buddy that they can't see the shit happening right in front of them. Maybe I killed Kaito. In fact, I _did_ . I watched him bleed out right there, and I _laughed_!"

Korekiyo stared blankly at the boy for an uncomfortable length of time before Rantaro spoke up, "I really don't think you should be making jokes like that."

"I don't know what the big deal is. He's _dead_. It's not like he's gonna come threaten to kick my ass or whatever like he always did." Ouma sighed, moving his hands up to leisurely rest behind his head. "At least now I'll have a little damn privacy."

The fourth floor still held an unpleasant, thick air. It made one's lungs try a bit harder to properly breathe and every creak of a floorboard to send someone into high alert. Even if the bodies had been disposed of and the areas cleaned up, the energies of the dank, dark hallways could still send a shiver down anyone’s spine. Having a body laying above them upstairs wasn't helping matters either.

"I know that my observations are obvious," Korekiyo suddenly spoke up, "but as I said, I don't see anyone here capable of murder at the moment. Especially not you, Ouma. Not right now under these specific circumstances."

"You shouldn't underestimate someone without a solid reason why," the young man shot back with a quirked, unamused brow. "What, is it because I'm young? Dumbass. I'm not the ultimate supreme leader for nothing, you know?"

"You hide your grief with smug nonchalance," the man flatly replied. Absentmindedly, he tugged the bandages on his left arm to assure they were snug as they passed the art lab. Angie's body had laid where they now stepped mere days beforehand and nobody so much as flinched. Rantaro found himself holding his arms. "There are several factors here, but that is the main one. Also, the motive presented does not appeal to you."

"What, and it doesn't to you?" Ouma shot back with a roll of his eyes. "You're the one always going on and on about your sister, and it's pretty obvious you get off on killing people. You're just making your case worse by blabbing on and on about who it could be." 

His arms dropped from his head to his sides, stopping in order to turn his head to the anthropologist with narrowed eyes. "Oh, and by the way, don't fucking psychoanalyze me. Use that brain power to save your own skin and figure out who killed that stupid spaceman so _all_ of us don't die."

None of the three were moving. Korekiyo and Ouma held each other's gazes, neither speaking, though the former was obviously intrigued by his companion’s body language and expression. Rantaro watched his eyes subtly dart over Ouma's face and hands, much like a scientist studied a specimen. Even now, that analytical look threatened to send a shudder down his spine.

The silence was getting deafening. Rantaro finally took initiative and broke it. "Enough, you two; we need to check the rooms for clues. Accusing anyone right now isn't going to hold any weight unless we can find anything to help point us in the right direction. Kiyo, you know your lab better than anyone; you can check there while-"

"You're not gonna leave the homicidal freakshow to his own devices, are you?" Ouma interrupted, head turned to Rantaro with an incredulous expression. "Yeah, _no._ I'll check the seance rooms while you babysit the weirdo. You're not in fucking charge here, so stop acting like you are." With a roll of his eyes, the teenager walked off as he rustled his hair with a hand.

Silence fell between the two, though it was broken when Korekiyo spoke up. "I apologize; he wouldn't be as fractious if I had only kept my thoughts to myself. It isn't fair to either of you for me to be so confrontational."

Even though the teenager's words about being in charge were ringing through Rantaro's brain, he attempted to tuck them away and focus on responding to his friend. "No, it's alright. Ouma's a kid; he's gonna be loud and defensive and push his emotions down. The best we can do is not let it get to us." He smiled lopsidedly and gestured vaguely with a hand for them to continue towards the anthropology lab, and so they did. 

"It's not that I think you did it; please don't take it the wrong way," Rantaro continued with a hopefully warm smile in an attempt to lighten the tension. "I just want to be thorough - and like I said, you know your lab. If anyone's been inside, you'd know it."

Korekiyo didn't respond at first. It made Rantaro worry that he had been too casual, or said the wrong thing, but at last he got a response after a long breath. "Of course; don't worry about that. Hopefully nobody has rifled through my things; if so, I should look for another lock in the warehouse.”

How very Korekiyo to fret over something like locks and organization instead of an active murder investigation, thought Rantaro. Not that he particularly blamed him, of course; everyone had their own distractions. The back door to the anthropology lab came into view, and so he took the liberty of turning the knob and pushing it open.

It was then that Rantaro realized that he had never actually been inside of the room. When he returned from the dead and Angie was killed, he had mostly loitered around hallways and such as per Shuichi’s request. But now the laboratory was before him, and the sight alone made his jaw drop. 

Korekiyo strode in as if it were the most normal thing he had ever seen, already perusing shelves and display cabinets for anything that may be missing. His companion, however, was too taken aback by his surroundings. The air smelled of old paper, like a library that had been long forgotten and lost to time. A winding walkway painted red led all the way upwards to another level of displays and shelves, his neck craning in an effort to see what could possibly be up there. Statues and framed documents in pristine condition lined the walls, and as Rantaro stepped up to some sort of paperwork in a language he couldn’t read, encased in glass and seemingly untouched, the impossibility of their situation seemed to hit him full force. 

A hand reached out to ready himself, palm resting against one of the pillars inside. While he turned his head to look for Korekiyo, he swallowed down a breath and asked, “How on earth did Monokuma get all of this here? Some of these must be ancient; Jesus Christ…”

“If I may be entirely honest with you,” his friend replied from across the room as he tucked a book back onto a shelf, “everything I have studied in this room thus far has proven to be a forgery or a nearly perfect replica. I had a sneaking suspicion the first time I arrived; there was a book here describing the ancient Caged Dog ritual that I was quite excited about upon discovering. At first I was convinced it was the original texts, but a few days ago I gave it a second look. Alas, the pages had just been aged to give off the aura of such a thing.” He sighed, shaking his head before stepping over to the display cases in the middle of the room. “Truly a disappointment. But the dedication to detail is an art in and of itself, in a way. Come; I’ll show you.”

After convincing himself that he could walk without stumbling, Rantaro stepped over and joined the man as he peered over at the artifacts encased beneath the glass. A book here, jewelry there, a small carving of something or other there. A bony and covered hand extended to point at a sword near where Rantaro was looking. “That sword there; its sheath is encrusted in genuine gold. Due to its age, it tends to flake and stick upon one’s hand. While you would think it’s quite ancient, upon further inspection, it’s rather modern. Not much more noteworthy than an old prop one might find at a pawn shop.”

“How can you tell?” Rantaro asked, turning to meet Korekiyo’s eye briefly before looking back down at the sword. “I mean, obviously I don’t know anything about this sort of thing, but now I’m curious.”

There was a sort of liveliness to Korekiyo’s voice as he replied, as if the fact that Rantaro asked at all excited him. “The blade itself is far too clean; no ancient sword that had been passed through generations would look as if you just purchased it from the store.” Rantaro briefly wondered what store, exactly, one would buy a sword at. “The gold flake itself is indeed genuine, but it’s akin to the edible gold leaf one might find in specialty desserts. I’ve wondered myself if that’s exactly what it is, in all honesty.” His palm splayed out over the glass, and when he didn’t speak, Rantaro looked back up at him. Korekiyo looked to him as well, and his eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the corners with a smile.

“Or perhaps it’s the fact that the label before it reads ‘ _Sword of Whatever, 1769._ ’ That might be the deciding factor, in all honesty.”

Rantaro blinked at the man and didn’t reply at first. Then he chuckled. The chuckle evolved into a laugh - more of a giggle, really - and he placed a hand over his mouth in an effort to stifle it. It had been so very long since he’d felt himself genuinely laugh, and now he couldn’t stop it.

After a few long seconds of attempting to quell his incessant giggles, he looked back up at Korekiyo. The expression upon the anthropologist’s face surprised him, for it, fittingly enough, was surprise. His eyes had widened, brows raised, and his posture was incredibly still. When their eyes met, he appeared almost flustered and quickly looked back down at the case. 

Hand slipping off of the glass, Korekiyo chuckled under his breath and gave a small shake of his head. “I’m glad that amused you so much. I was never much of a jokester, so it’s a pleasant surprise.” Straightening up, he glanced over the room and remarked, “I can’t see anything out of place. I come here to dust nearly every day if I can, so I would say I have a good eye for such things. Whatever was used to kill Kaito wasn’t found here.” Glancing up at the walkway, he added, “And I doubt that anyone would find climbing up there worth all of the effort when there are plenty of viable weapons down here alone.”

The mention of Kaito helped bring Rantaro back down to reality a bit, though he still couldn’t fight the amused little smile on his face. It was as if he wanted to hold onto it, even if only for a few more seconds. He didn’t know when he might experience it again. “Right… I guess we should go check on Ouma, then. Those rooms are empty, so he probably finished and is wandering around somewhere nearby.”

Korekiyo didn’t reply at first, as if his mind was elsewhere. One of his hands reached upward to absentmindedly adjust his bangs, tucking a lock behind his ear before he adjusted his mask. “Right. Wouldn’t want him to be loose for too long, hmm?” There was the subtle amused crinkle to his eye, and with a small chuckle, he walked off towards the door and the two exited the lab.


	21. Frustration

Gonta was easily distracted, Tsumugi had found out. For all of his unconditional loyalty, even he had his limits when it came to the murder investigations. Those big red eyes of his were enough to make anyone crack, and she wasn't an exception. The hunt for clues didn't last too long, and soon enough he had been sent off to check up on the others. Before they had parted ways, he had mentioned going to find Himiko and make sure she was alright. How thoughtful of him.

Great minds think alike, or at least that's what someone would say were they not the mastermind of a killing game who viewed the mountain of a man as little more than a chess piece in the grand scheme of things. The walkway from the first floor girl's restroom leading to the hideout was as empty as ever, the soles of her shoes clacking against the metal floor and echoing through the chamber. The door leading inside slid open of its own accord once she had reached it.

The sight that greeted her was certainly different. Her technician was not at his desk nor was he anywhere in the room at all, and her mechanic lay asleep on one of the small couches inside. Well, she could only assume it was her. All that she could see was a bundle curled up beneath a blanket.

Sitting at the desk instead of the man that should have been there sat her chemist, their long and unruly hair obscuring their side profile. With a frown, Tsumugi stepped up with her hands on her hips. "Where's… oh. Right." Sighing shortly, she reached out and poked the person's shoulder. Calmly, they turned their head and stared blankly at her. Again, she spoke, "What. Are you. Doing."

Their own hands raised, the lights upon their gloves subtly glowing as it translated what they signed out loud, "Everyone is sleeping. Resting for trial. I hate to burst your bubble, but we don't know who actually killed Kaito." They shrugged and added, "Sorry about that."

The two stared at one another for a few seconds in silence. The person before Tsumugi blinked slowly at her, almost like a cat. A very nonplussed, unfazed cat. Her lips pursed into a tight frown, arms falling to her sides. "What do you _mean_ you don't know? Was nobody watching?"

"Minoru was," they signed in response. "But it's hard to watch a screen when it's frozen. Someone tampered with the camera in Rantaro's lab." Not breaking eye contact with her, they pointed over at the screen in question before continuing. "So we would appreciate it if you let us know when the room is empty so the camera can be fixed."

Tsumugi puffed her cheeks out in frustration and released a short, annoyed sigh as a hand raised to pinch at her temples. "So we don't know who the killer is and nobody is working? Great. Cool! I just wanted to check on the fourth floor, but I guess now we're in a fine kettle of fish…"

The robotic voice spoke from their hands, "I can't lip read very well with your teeth gritted like that. Repeat whatever it was that you-"

They flinched when her hand dropped and she scowled at them, enunciating her words far too much than she should have as she replied, "Fix. It. Before. The. Trial. Please. And keep. An eye. On the fourth. FLOOR."

There was the blank stare again, and then a scoff. "You didn't used to be such a bitch. I'm not waking either of them up for this shit."

The woman gasped and took a step back as if their monotonous words had somehow hurt her. Her frown deepened as her posture straightened and a foot stomped down on the floor in indignance. "Do you even care about this killing game? Did you forget who we're doing this for?"

"Shut up," they shot back, expression as blank as it had been when she had entered. "Everyone is exhausted right now. We're doing the best we can. Let us rest and then we'll work on the trial setup."

"What about the execution machines, hmm?" Tsumugi replied with a huff, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "If you don't know who the killer is, what if it's not ready in time?"

They shook their head. "Don't worry about it. We'll review the footage when we get the chance. And that chance will be after everyone's had enough sleep." Their hands lowered, but then raised again and made a shooing motion to signal that she should leave.

"Why are you even being so short with me?" she asked with a frown that appeared more sad than her previously frustrated one. "I just wanted to come and check in on things."

They waited. Looked at the monitors, then back at her. "I'm tired. That's all. I haven't slept in about two days." A pause. "Sorry. You should probably go back out before someone starts suspecting you."

Tsumugi looked at the monitors for a few long seconds, and after the borderline uncomfortable silence, she asked with slightly upturned brows, "Do you have any clues at all? Any?"

"Aside from Kaito being sick, no," They admitted. "We couldn't even see the cause of death because of the screen."

"Oh, um… something heavy was nearby; I didn't get a good look," she replied, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Maybe a shelf or something; I don't know. There wasn't a lot of blood."

They nodded. "Okay. Good. That's a start. Now I'm going to ask again; leave. Just go away and do something that isn't here." Again, they made the shooing gesture with their hands.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Tsumugi took the hint and turned to leave. Her arms held herself a bit more tightly, effectively hugging herself. The hallway door slid open, and she stepped through.

They didn't know who the killer was. Okay. Great. It wasn't as if it would affect the participants, or even them as the masterminds, but it was the principle of the thing. The very idea that someone could outsmart them…

Her scowl returned. Or were they not paying close enough attention? Had those four compromised the whole game because they wanted a stupid little catnap? 

Fingers digging loosely into her arms, she released a weary sigh and shook her head. It didn't matter. Right now she had to focus on the present and to figure out how to coast through the upcoming trial without issue. That's what _she_ would have wanted and what _she_ would have done. Junko would have never backed down from a little extra challenge, and neither would Tsumugi.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed someone was walking into the bathroom as she was walking out, releasing a grunt when they made impact. "S-sorry!"

"It's okay," came a nasally response from none other than Himiko, whose hat had gone askew during the impact. She seemed to either not notice or not mind. "I thought you were with Gonta."

"Oh he got scared, the poor thing," Tsumugi sighed. "Last I heard he was actually looking for you and Kiibo. We couldn't find any clues on the third floor, so…"

After a few seconds of awkward eye contact, Tsumugi realized she should move out of the way and let Himiko by, who promptly did. Rather than going to a stall, she moved to the sink to wash her hands. She was hardly tall enough to reach the faucet. The woman had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Lingering in the doorway still, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and asked, "Any luck on your end? I'm not sure why we're looking anywhere when the crime was in the lab, honestly… but Maki won't let us in, and I don't want to just stand around and do nothing."

Himiko flicked water off of her hands and opted to wipe them off on her skirt instead of a paper towel. Wet smudges remained on the fabric when she was done, but the girl didn't see bothered in the slightest. "Nah. Kiibo said the same thing. I wanna just go back to my dorm and skip the trial, but I don't think Monokuma would let me." Lips turning downwards into a frown, she folded her arms across her chest and rocked on her heels. "It'd probably just make me suspicious anyway. I'm really tired of being called a murderer every time…"

Tsumugi gave her what was hopefully a sympathetic smile. "Honestly, I could never see you as a killer. You're too nice; it's just plain to see."

While she hoped it had been comforting, Himiko's frown only deepened. Her response was delayed, and when it came, it was a change of subject. "I gotta go. Kiibo's waiting for me in the hall and he said he didn't want me to be alone right now."

"Oh… yeah, of course," the woman replied, and silently moved to the side to let Himiko through. Peeking out of the doorway, she watched as the witch quickly walked up to Kiibo, who stood at the end of the hall with his back to her. He extended a hand to Himiko, and after a few words Tsumugi couldn't hear, it was taken, and they walked off.

A smile crossed her face alongside a small, almost whimsical sigh. It really was adorable how Kiibo was taking the initiative and how he cared so much about Himiko. He was like her new big brother, in a way. Rantaro had been spending time with her as well, which really wasn't as much of a surprise. Of course someone like him would take to Himiko.

As much as she wanted to go and find him, she knew that she had to get into his ultimate lab somehow. She was the only one on scene who could get away with it, after all; surely she could convince Maki to let her in. Somehow.

* * *

There was hardly any blood, but it was stuck in her nose anyway. Kaito's body wasn't even cold yet, so why did the stench of decay line her nostrils and threaten to slither down her throat? 

Maki was used to blood and bodies, but it wasn't until this godforsaken killing game that she was given the time to be so up close and personal with one. She was an assassin; she did her job and left before she was found. But even now, she hadn't been this close to a body since Rantaro had died - and that had been from across the room.

She could still feel the indent of Kaito's head against her lap.

It didn't matter that she had stood since then, studying the room from stem to stern as much as she could. Shuichi was doing the same on the other side of the room, though currently he seemed to be battling an overgrown plant and its numerous leaves that seemed determined to bat at his face with every movement. If it wasn't for the situation, it would have been funny. 

Currently, she was crouched on one knee upon the floor near Kaito's body. Despite how she typically worked - all silence and stealth and closed lips - she found herself talking aloud, as she had been since the start of their investigation. If she didn't, her thoughts would eat her alive. It had been a long time since they'd managed to break out and worm around in her head. 

"He coughed before dying," she remarked, palm splayed out upon the wooden floor next to bloodstains speckled upon its surface. "I've been wondering what these stains were because they're so scattered, but it makes the most sense. It lines up with the blood on his mouth, too." She looked at his lifeless face for as long as she could stand it, which wasn't long at all, before quickly turning back to the floor. "But the only injuries he sustained were on his head and left arm. There's no wound on his abdomen to make him cough up blood."

Shuichi was quiet, though he _had_ successfully wrangled away from the plant that was nearly as tall as he was. He was busy checking a shelf nearby, lined with what looked like camping and hiking gear. Reaching a hand out, he picked up what looked like some sort of mountaineer's hook and turned it in his palm. "Um… there aren't any open wounds at all? A-anywhere?" Blinking hard, he forced his eyes to focus on the tool he held. "There are a lot of weird things in here you could use to… kill someone."

"No," came Maki's blunt reply. "I've checked to make absolutely sure. There would be blood on his clothes if that was the case, and all I've been able to find is a cut on his left forearm." Looking down at it, covered with his coat sleeve, she further observed, "I think he cut it on a branch or something like that. The wound is too jagged to be from a knife."

"He wasn't sick or anything, was he?" Shuichi asked, hands slightly trembling as he put the hook back on the shelf. "Though I think something as serious as coughing up blood would be pretty noticeable if he was…"

Maki paused, looking back over at the blood splatter near her hand. It reeled back to rest her elbow on her knee, though she didn't look away from that spot on the floor. "He said he had a cold a couple of days ago. But that wouldn't cause something like that." After a few seconds of thinking it over, she scoffed under her breath and shook her head. "But knowing him, he could have been lying. I think that Kaito would have rather died than admit he wasn't feeling well."

Her eyes met his own closed ones.

"... I guess he did in the end."

The silence that fell was as heavy as lead. Maki sighed shortly under her breath and pushed herself up into a standing position, staring blankly down at the body before looking over at the shelf laying nearby, books scattered here and there. “I can’t help but wonder what this lab is even for. Hiking? There’s a lot of equipment in here that someone could use to kill with, but Kaito’s looked like blunt force trauma. This wouldn’t even be a problem if we actually got the Monokuma File.”

“I found that strange too, actually,” Shuichi spoke up, and when he turned to look over at her, he flinched upon meeting her eye and looking back over at the shelf. “There was no cause of death; do you think Monokuma’s doing that on purpose, or…?”

“Or maybe he doesn’t even know,” she finished for him. “Which is… interesting.” Maki paused, then she huffed. “I just want to know who did this. That’s all. That’s all I want right now and all I want to think about. We’ll just have to talk it out at the trial-”

A knock on the lab door startled the both of them and interrupted her words, brows knitting as she stood there with her arms crossed. She waited for a few seconds before sighing and stepping over, turning the lock and opening the door. 

Of all the people Maki expected to see at the door, Tsumugi wasn’t one of them. She looked a touch nervous, her hands fidgeting in front of herself as she looked down at the assassin with those big blue puppydog eyes of hers. What she wanted was obvious before she’d even opened her mouth. “Hey, Maki… um, I know you want to do the investigation yourself, but well, I’m just plain worried about you. Is there any way I can help?”

The worry in the woman’s eyes made something tick in the back of Maki’s brain, but it was quickly smothered before she replied, “I’m guessing you didn’t find any clues.” She paused. “... I acted rashly when I told everyone to leave. I just didn’t want the crime scene contaminated - especially after the last time with Tenko and that summoning circle incident. Right now we’re trying to determine the cause of death - Shuichi and I are, I mean. If you don’t mind being in a room with a corpse, then… I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

Tsumugi’s smile was lopsided, and she nodded her head in thanks before stepping inside and looking around with wide and curious eyes. “Oh, my; look at all these plants… This is supposed to be Rantaro’s lab, right?”

“Supposedly,” Maki replied, expression blank as she watched the woman step around and peer at all of the items along the walls and tables. “We can’t figure out what it could all be for, but what’s even more confusing is that none of these were used to kill. Some of them even still have dust on them, like they’ve been here for a while.”

A hand reached out towards the wall, which was painted in brilliant shades of blue and green almost to resemble a rainforest backdrop, albeit a crudely drawn one. Fingers sliding over what was likely supposed to be a monkey sitting on the branch of a tree, Tsumugi hummed shortly to herself in thought. “I’m confused… Why would someone kill him here? To pin the blame on Rantaro?”

“It definitely makes him a suspect, but I feel like that’s what the murderer wants us to think,” was Maki’s reply. “The whole situation is just bothering me.” Leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed and she looked back at the body. “I think that maybe that shelf fell on him, but the injury on his head that I found isn’t bleeding at all. It all just feels like a setup.”

“But nobody here would kill anyone - well, maybe Korekiyo would…” Tsumugi hummed, turning away from the wall with a finger to her chin in thought. “And he knows how to set things up, too. It’s not impossible.”

“I really don’t want to think of anyone here being a murderer,” Shuichi muttered from where he stood. Currently he held onto a stray leaf, absentmindedly tugging it up and down upon its little branch. “I know I have to, and that I’m being naive. But right now, I just… need to work through Kaito’s death. I don’t know. I’m supposed to be a detective and focus on the case, and I can’t.” He paused, cheeks growing red with embarrassment at his own words, and looked down at the floor. The leaf was tugged a bit harder. “... I’m sorry. Please, just give me a minute or two, and I’ll be able to focus again.”

“Oh, Shuichi…” Tsumugi cooed, Maki watching as she stepped towards the man with outstretched arms, but Shuichi instinctively shied away a bit. This did not deter her, however, and soon a pair of long arms were wrapped around the detective’s thin frame. A hand moved to his head and pulled it into her front as she continued, “It’s okay to feel sad and scared, okay? You need to let emotions out sometimes, plain and simple. Especially when something like this happens.”

Shuichi was quite obviously not used to such a gesture, and it was evident by how his shoulders slightly trembled against her as he stood there, frozen in place. Maki had just seen his eyes cloud a bit with water when a chime interrupted all three of them, heads turning up to the sound’s origin. Upon the southern wall of the room sat a television, as one did in every room and hall, and it had apparently turned on without their notice. Monokuma sat upon the couch that was present in every announcement, draped over it like a lady in waiting.

Maki’s hand clenched at the sight.

“ _What a dramatic afternoon this has turned out to be!_ ” the bear chirped, a paw moving over his forehead as if he were growing faint. “ _But the theatrics are getting kind of stale, so let’s move onto the next act already! Everyone, gather to the trial grounds as soon as possible, or else I might get even more bored and throw tomatoes at you! Nobody wants that!_ ”

“ _Tomatoes made of bombs!_ ” exclaimed a Monokub from off-screen, likely Monotaro.

“ _But then you couldn’t eat them!_ ” came a feminine voice - Monophanie - alongside a worried noise. “ _Why would you wanna make bombs out of tomatoes?_ ”

“ _Cause it would probably look super cool, and then the person on stage would dance a whole bunch avoiding them!_ ”

“ _It’s still mean!_ ”

Monokuma released a long, incredibly annoyed groan, and the broadcast shut off as soon as it had started, leaving them in silence. Everyone was tensed up, and none of them had answers.

“Tsumugi,” muttered Shuichi, and Maki looked back over to see him trying to wriggle free from her suddenly solid hold, “Please let go of - ow - me…”

The woman gasped, as if she’d been snapped out of a short daze, and quickly released him before taking a step back. “Sorry, sorry; I just… gosh, we’re already doing the trial, huh? That was, um… fast. I guess it just took me off guard.”

Maki didn’t reply for a moment. Finally, she unfolded her arms and moved for the door, opening it. “You’re right, Tsumugi. It’s not good to bottle up your emotions. You need to express yourself and move forward. But right now, the only way any of us in this room will get to experience that is by getting through this godforsaken trial. So come on. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [link holding up poorly cropped pic of this fic's title] it's MY fanfiction and I get to put ocs in it
> 
> you guys can get a little extra thousand words this chapter. as a treat. amaguji is imminent i promise the story just has to move for the audience and sometimes the boys are not present. what are they doing? i dunno still giggling at swords probably who knows


	22. Accusations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws: brief mention of vomit (monophanie, ykno)

The elevator ride felt slower and slower each time they had to take it.

Rantaro's hand loosely rested in his pocket as he silently surveyed the group alongside him in the lift. Tsumugi stood by Shuichi, holding her arm and looking like she wanted to say something. Maki stood in the corner by herself with her arms crossed, staring down at the elevator button. Everyone else was scattered, though Korekiyo stood next to Rantaro with his arms folded over his chest as well. Save for the rumbling noises of the elevator around them, it was quiet.

In such a horribly tense and dreary situation, Rantaro found his mind trying to focus on other things in order to avoid overwhelming himself with the reality of what he would face once the elevator stopped. Right now, it was Korekiyo - though that had been a present thought throughout the day in general. And week.

Rantaro watched as his companion absentmindedly flicked a bit of dust off of his sleeve before adjusting his arms back into their original position. Their makeshift bargain had been kept up, even if it was a little one sided at best. Korekiyo was always more than happy to listen to his friend talk or even vent about whatever was on his mind, as promised - but whenever an opportunity would arise for Korekiyo himself to open up about what has been hurting him, the subject was smoothly changed into something more benign. 

The elevator jolted a little and everyone inside the elevator took in in a collective breath, but then it continued its descent. Just a hiccup, it seemed. If only it had lingered a bit longer. Every second felt like minutes during these rides.

Someone was speaking under their breath then; it took Rantaro a few seconds to realize it was Koreiyo. The hushed tone to his voice indicated that the words were meant for him and him alone. "Rantaro… I just wished to warn you about something. I'm certain you've thought about it already, but it's been on my mind."

The stiffening in Rantaro's shoulders was almost involuntary, even if his tone replied calm - doubly so given the lower volume. "What's up, Kiyo?"

"I will likely be accused of murder several times over the duration of this trial," the anthropologist replied, gaze slipping down to the grate floor beneath them. "It is expected, given the outcome of last trial - however, I need you to know that I did not kill Kaito." A hand raised from his arm to rest loosely over his chest as he continued, "I have killed in the past, yes… but only women. And the only women left here don't fill my personal requirements."

Rantaro raised a brow, and Korekiyo met his eye briefly before looking back down at the floor.

"... Not that I'm going to kill again in general. It's still something I have to remind myself of. My point is that I won't be…" He hesitated, as if the following words were difficult for him to admit, "hurting anyone again. At least, I'm going to try."

A bandaged hand gently took hold of the fabric of his jacket, posture deathly still against the wall of the elevator. His fingers trembled with the intensity of the grip. Again, he met Rantaro's eye.

"I promise."

The eye contact was held then, almost uncomfortably so with Korekiyo's gaze that lingered on fearful. Rantaro swallowed his anxieties for that brief moment and managed a smile.

"I believe you."

The shared look was jolted apart when the elevator abruptly stopped and the doors slid open. If the silence was loud before, it was deafening now. Without a word, and without much coordination on anyone's part, everyone stepped out and headed down the short walkway leading to their trial stands.

As Rantaro took his place at his own, marked with a small and crudely drawn icon of him on the stand's touchscreen, he glanced around the room. In the previous trial, he had been far too dazed and distracted to focus on such a thing, but now he was trying to keep his mind busy lest he get a headache. The room was circular with an incredibly high ceiling, artificial light streaming in from behind the colorful stained glass windows surrounding them. Seats akin to that of an auditorium's were around them, as if Monokuma had originally expected a crowd - or maybe it was just to complete the look of the stylized courtroom. If it could even be called that.

Monokuma was prattling on about the rules of the class trial and what would happen and so on, though Rantaro wasn't listening any more than he had the last time. He found his hands taking hold of the sides of the podium, if only to have something to physically hold on to. As if it would help him cope with the situation in any way.

Ouma was talking. "It's pretty obvious that Rantaro and Korekiyo are suspect, with it being in Rantaro's lab. It's _so_ obvious, in fact, that it's _suspicious_ . Nobody would be caught dead killing someone in their own lab - or _would_ they? That's what a murderer would _want_ us to think."

"Hold on," Kiibo said as he held up his palm. "The trial has just started; I don't think we should be throwing around accusations so quickly. Let's go over the clues first; we've collected them for a reason."

"It's not a bad idea to have suspects lined up early on," Maki spoke from her stand, somehow sounding even more deadpan than she usually did. "That way, the evidence can help further prove or disprove their possible guilt."

"If I may." Korekiyo's demeanor had shifted almost entirely in contrast to how timid he appeared in the elevator; he now looked calm and collected as he gestured with a hand whilst speaking. "It may be beneficial to establish alibis leading up until the time of the body discovery. Did anyone see Kaito today?"

"I did," said Rantaro, and all eyes were immediately on him. A smile tugged at Ouma's lips. He could only assume that he had not expected the man to admit such a thing, let alone so quickly. Before anyone could interrupt, he continued. "Sort of. I passed him in the hall late this morning. It was when I went to the kitchen to wash up plates from breakfast."

"Which hall?" asked Tsumugi with a tilt of her head, blinking those big blue eyes over at him like a doe. "Do you remember which way he was going?"

"The one heading to the kitchen; he was walking towards the stairs," Rantaro replied, prying his gaze away from the woman and electing to look around at anyone else besides her - even if the burn of her stare seemed to sting more than the rest. "I greeted him when we passed each other, but he looked tired. I didn't think much about it because I figured he had just woken up late."

"Why Kaito in upstairs room with plants?" Gonta mused out loud, his brow furrowing in thought. His glasses slid down his nose a bit with the motion. "Maybe that where he was going."

"The upstairs laboratories haven't been open for very long," Kiibo observed. "I myself didn't know until the body discovery announcement; it's possible that only a few people did. Shuichi... " 

His head turned to address the man properly, though he hesitated a bit upon seeing the paleness to the detective's face alongside a distant stare. Ultimately, however, he pushed through and continued with his question. "You were in charge with unlocking the rooms, right? Do you know if anyone else was aware?"

Shuichi cleared his throat before he responded, forcing his posture to be a touch straighter and his head to be held high. But even that could not hide the redness to his eyes, or the way his fingers fidgeted at his sides. "Tsumugi was, because her lab was open. Himiko was exploring it at some point last time I walked through, looking out a window.

"But that was yesterday. I don't have a personal observation of anyone else who came through." He shifted from one foot to the other. "I did see Kaito there yesterday. He wanted to explore and check out my lab." 

"But not today at all?" Korekiyo, who had been studying the man intently from where he stood, questioned. "Surely someone must have passed him while out and about. Or did he simply come to visit you, Maki?"

Maki visibly bristled when the man addressed her. Though her face was blank, there was a fire to her eyes that likely would not extinguish any time soon. "No. I didn't see him. I was cleaning a rifle in my lab."

"And do you have an alibi for that?"

She hesitated. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "No."

Ouma took control of the conversation yet again, his index finger tapping absentmindedly against his chin in thought. "Kaito spent the most time with Maki and Shuichi. So you two would know where he would be better than anyone."

Maki bristled. "I'm not sure why you would assume that we-"

"You three work out together or something at night - or I guess, _worked_ out," the teen interrupted. "I know because he never shuts up when you do, and it was ruining my sleep. Anyway, this conversation isn't getting us anywhere, wouldn't you agree Monokuma?"

"Yeah," the bear replied from his makeshift throne, feigning a yawn for emphasis. "Pick up the pace! That old spaceman had to be _somewhere_ , right?"

"... Maki," Rantaro spoke up after a moment of hesitation. The look she gave him in response felt like what he imagined a stab to the gut would feel like. Nevertheless, he pressed on. "I've been curious, even if it's none of my business, but I don't have any other leads for anything. What did you need an ice pack for this morning?"

The woman didn't respond at first, as still as stone and twice as expressionless. Tsumugi broke the brief silence. "An ice pack? Did you hurt your head or something, Maki? Gosh, I'm surprised you didn't lose your memory in that case." She sighed, lost in some thought that had landed on her mind, and added, "Happens more often than you'd think."

"I'm not sure how an ice pack will get us anywhere," Kiibo admitted, synthetic lips pursed into a small frown as he glanced over at Maki. "But… it's the only lead of any kind we have right now. We need to establish where everyone was today leading up to the murder."

The stillness broke enough for the woman to flit her gaze down to her stand, then back over to Rantaro. It was unreadable, but at least she was talking. "I hurt my arm in my lab and didn't want to put up with a bruise."

"How that happen?" Gonta inquired. "Maki okay?"

"My hand slipped when putting my crossbow together. A piece of it sprang back on me and hit me," she replied. Her arms crossed over her chest as she released a sigh. She didn't look angry, or upset - just tired. Very tired. Rantaro couldn't blame her.

He could, however, continue to prod her with questions, even if it pained him to do so. Every word felt like needles on his tongue, haphazardly falling out and leaving pinpricks of guilt all over his mouth. "Why did you need Shuichi to come with you, then?"

Maki paused, but the man in question spoke up from his own stand. "She wanted to talk to me about something, that's all." At the silence that greeted him, he swallowed and answered the obvious question as he held the podium he stood at with both hands to steady himself. "Kaito hadn't been feeling well the past few days leading up to… what happened. She wanted to talk to me about it. I think he just had a cold or something."

"This is the first we're hearing about this." Kiibo raised a quizzical eyebrow. "How long had he been sick?"

"Like Shuichi said," Maki replied for him, "a few days. I didn't know until recently. It was maybe a day after the motive announcement. We both just assumed that the stress got to him." She frowned then, even if the motion was subtle. Her hand silently balled into a fist at her side before unclenching. "Is it really so surprising?"

"That only further begs the question from before," remarked Korekiyo. "Why was he heading to the fifth floor, and for what reason? If he was feeling ill, he should have stayed in his dormitory."

"... He was stubborn. It was one of his more obvious traits," Maki said flatly. Her gaze slid back downwards, away from her peers. "Is it really so surprising?"

"I suppose not," the anthropologist hummed. "Though the two of you are acting more than a tad suspicious. I understand that Kaito was close to you, and that you must be grieving… but I sense you're hiding something from us. Especially you, Maki."

"Vote for me and kill us all, then," she deadpanned. "I don't know why he was up there. I just know he was sick; that's all."

"I have a question," Shuichi spoke up all of a sudden. All eyes fell on him, and he flinched. "... Ouma."

The boy in question grinned over at him, leaning in a bit over his stand. "Hmm? What is it, Shuichi? Got something on your mind?"

"How did you know that Maki, Kaito, and I all train together?" he asked, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with the smirking teen. "We've been doing it late at night; well past ten, at least."

"Monokuma," Korekiyo interjected, peering up and over at the bear, "the dormitories are soundproof, are they not?"

He snickered. "Sure are! You could dismember someone in one and nobody could hear their screams! Comes in handy if one of you little freaks is into that!"

Monophanie held a hand to her mouth and promptly turned to empty her stomach at the thought, as she tended to do. Monotaro only patted her back for comfort as she did so.

"As I thought," he hummed in reply. "I did find it suspicious when Ouma mentioned that Kaito kept him awake. The rooms don't even have windows."

The accused was only smiling - it was an amused and knowing smile, and _not_ one of someone who had just been caught for murder. It only begged the question as to what was so funny to him.

"Why don't you ask _Gonta?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: I’m off hiatus guys  
> me: [moves and dissociates for two weeks] a  
> BUT YEA LIKE. IM HERE LOL. trials are just hard to write and also I moved. I’m feeling better but my life’s mega busy LOL updates will be sporadic as usual :’) ty for ur support blows you all a kis


End file.
